Back Stories Book III
by mal4prez
Summary: The crew's efforts to heal the captain are made more and more difficult by the ship's pursuers, but Inara means to do all she can to help.
1. Chapter 1

**Back Stories Book I****I****I**

* * *

_The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money._

_I'm truly evil to do it, since more chapters won't be coming any time soon, but I really really want to post this! Life has been full of hard work and stress and I'm hoping this chapter will earn me at least a little feedbacky love. Been out of the fandom awhile, and I miss it! :)_

_As I blogged on the fireflyfans site, I submitted this chapter to my novel writing class (with a full admission that it was fanfic and not my own, but I was too busy that week to develop my original stuff). The feedback was interesting, coming from nonfan types and, indeed, non scifi types. There's more about that, and about this chapter in general, in my most recent blog (I have the same name on fireflyfans if you want to go look - can't put links on here). Anyhow, you may note that this has a bit more basic info than fics usually bother with, references to "husband" "pilot" "mechanic" etc, and basic descriptions. That was for my novel writing classmates._

_Again, I apologize in advance for how long it's likely to take to get this thing fully posted. But then - it always does take a while, huh?_

_Enough yapping. Please – read and enjoy!_

* * *

**Chapter 1.**

One source of oxygen, two sets of lungs. Four eyes tightly closed.

Doctor Simon Tam found that reality had been reduced to an endless cycle that repeated in the silent dark. He held a plastic mask in his right hand, pressing it against the skin around his nose and mouth as he inhaled deeply. Then he shifted it down to his sister River, finding her face without opening his eyes to look. It wasn't difficult; her head was just below his chin. She was nestled into his left side, both of them sitting against the side wall of the lab in Victoria "Tori" Zhou's medical clinic on a small settlement on the Border world of Highgate, locked in with no chance for escape. He had plenty of time to ponder the complete bizarreness of the situation. How in the world could his life have come to this?

He felt his sister's frail body slowly expand as she took her turn with the breathing mask, and he timed his exhale to match, steadily blowing air out his nose and finishing just as her body hitched slightly, her inhale done. He returned the mask to his own face. And so it went on.

And on.

And on.

At odd intervals he'd lift his left hand to stroke River's hair, then gently touch her face to be sure that her eyes were as tightly closed as his own. The airborne drug was still thick around them; he could taste the bitter tang of it on his tongue, though he tried to keep his lips pressed together when the mask wasn't covering his face. This chemical could be absorbed into eyes, the inside of a mouth, the tissue of nasal passages. Only in small amounts, but over a few hours, it would eventually be enough.

It was happening already. Despite all his efforts, Simon knew that the toxins were creeping into his system. He could feel a sourness in his stomach, an increasing heaviness in his thoughts. But he couldn't let it win. If he passed out, the next thing he saw would be the agents of the Alliance, called in by Tori – his classmate at MedAcad and one time girlfriend – to take him and River away from the relative safety they'd found with Malcolm Reynolds and the rest of the crew of _Serenity_. River would return to the Academy, to the medical experimentation that had already broken her mind. And his own fate? Likely, he'd disappear in some dark, unknown way, his knowledge of the Academy's awful truth lost forever.

Tears wet River's cheeks and the mask that passed between them, but she obediently kept her eyes shut. She must remember that words he'd said to her in those precious few seconds he'd had to act. Just after Tori locked them in this lab and sent the gas hissing into the air, he'd pulled River to the oxygen tanks under a ventilation hood. At first it'd been a struggle to calm his sister, to fight down her panic and make her breathe evenly from the mask. But once she'd understood what he wanted, she met his eyes and nodded, then settled down against him. The last words he'd said before the cloud of toxic fumes surrounded them were: "Don't open your eyes, don't talk. Exhale out your nose."

That had been some time ago, hours maybe. Hours of darkness and no sound but the steady hiss of oxygen through the mask.

He could do nothing else, nothing but keep them breathing. They both had to remain still and calm; it was the only way to make this work. One source of oxygen, two set of lungs. They had to be efficient and patient. They couldn't do anything more than that, nothing besides pray that _Serenity_'s crew came for them before the Alliance did.

.*. .*. .*.

"Well, I must say," Wash declared as he spun the pilot's chair around, turning his back on the sunlit shipyard outside the wide ports of _Serenity_'s bridge. "_Someone_ was looking particularly radiant this morning."

The light pouring in the windows was more than bright enough to illuminate the back of the bridge, to show the small smirk that tilted the young mechanic's mouth. Kaylee had to know that by _someone_ he meant her, but she didn't respond right away. She took her time twisting two wires together. The faulty connection she'd found in the port bulkhead of the bridge was nothing that'd keep _Serenity_ on the ground, but clearly Kaylee needed something to do while they waited for Zoë.

Wash didn't have the luxury of finding chores to busy himself. Zoë, his wife and second in command of the ship, was out there, doing Heaven's knew what to release the landing lock and free _Serenity_ to take to the sky. He had to be at the controls when that happened, ready to go.

Not that he expected anything soon; it'd been only a little over an hour since he and Kaylee'd left the others in the settlement. They'd found this shipyard quicker than he'd expected, and had a surprisingly easy time sneaking past a small guard building, climbing the fence, and gaining entry to their impounded ship. But now they had nothing to do but wait. Wait, and be ready the second Zoë showed up or waved with orders.

Which meant that Wash's butt would not be leaving his seat. It also meant that he had the perfect opportunity to get some juicy information out of Kaylee.

Eventually, the mechanic pulled her pliers back from the gap between pipes and tilted her head at Wash. She studied him, like she was trying to read the full meaning of his compliment.

"Now, Simon…" Wash went on, happy to clarify. "I wouldn't say Simon was _glowing_ exactly, because he looked a little worn out. Hadn't gotten enough sleep, maybe. And I can guess why: it looked like some kind of pesky critter spent the night chewing on his neck."

That did the trick. Kaylee's face broke into a crooked grin and she made a full, if somewhat indirect, admission. "Folks back home never did call me a critter, but I was generally known to be pesky." She grinned, her nose crinkling in a particularly cute way, before she grabbed an orange wire nut and got back to her task.

"I knew it!" Wash exclaimed, then he tempered his reaction, giving credit where credit was due. "Well… Zoë knew it."

Kaylee looked over her shoulder, eyebrows raised. "Zoë? Y'all been talkin' about my business?"

"What, you wouldn't? Some folks have cinema, we have a crew."

Kaylee snorted.

"So…?" he hinted.

"So what?"

"What's he _like_?"

Kaylee paused again, fighting off a grin before straightening her face and replying in a saucy and suggestive voice, "Why, Hoban Washburn, you're married to a woman, and a very fine one at that. You really so interested in how Simon Tam handles himself in bed?"

"Wait – he had to handle himself?"

She shot him a _ha-ha_ look.

"Yes, I'm interested," Wash went on. "In a manly, hetero, purely curious way. I mean, Simon's so uptight. So… doctor-y. Was he all clinical and cool with the sexing, too? Does he use scientific terms? Did you feel like some kind of a lab rat?"

"Course I didn't! It was… it was… " She tilted her head and the golden light from the windows caught her auburn hair and hazel eyes, making her seem to glow all the more.

Wash broke into a cackle. "Oh… I see how it is. You got it. You got it all right. Must be something in the air on this world: the love bug is biting everyone. Zoë all over me last night –" Kaylee's expression turned questioning and he gave her an _Oh yeah_ nod. "– and you and Simon finally getting together, and then River with her mooning–"

"River?"

"Oh… um, oops."

He spun his chair back to the console, biting his lip. He'd promised River that he wouldn't say anything. The girl's little crush on _Serenity_'s captain was a secret – though River surely hadn't called it a "little crush." _True undying love_ seemed more the way she saw things, and her feelings for Malcolm Reynolds had pushed her to take some pretty extreme actions. Oh yes, Wash knew why she'd broken into Tori's medical clinic the other night: she'd wanted to get Mal his treatment as soon as possible. The girl wanted the captain's head operating properly again so she could work her charms on him.

River saw the relationship as feasible, no matter that the man in her crosshairs was nearly twice her age and – as far as Wash could see – emphatically not interested. But, no matter how ridiculous Wash thought the whole thing was, River'd told him of her feelings in confidence. He meant to respect that. He hadn't even told his wife.

Fortunately, Kaylee didn't even suspect Wash's true meaning. "Yeah ," she said with a sad shake of her head. "Poor River. Just eighteen, and wantin' all the things a healthy body wants. Too bad she ain't got nobody around to take care of her right."

"Not like you've got the doc, huh?" Wash swiveled back to face Kaylee again, happy to leave the slippery subject of River's love life behind.

Kaylee's face lit up again, her concern for River laid aside as she remembered her own romantic successes.

"It took you two long enough," Wash teased. He meant it good-naturedly, but Kaylee's eyes slid down to fasten on the metal grill of the deck, and for just a second her smile faded.

"Well…" she said in a subdued voice, "I guess times been busy, what with all that's happened I kinda got…"

She was interrupted by a clang, a loud metallic sound that vibrated up through the hull. Kaylee looked up and Wash met her eye – both of them knew this ship too well to doubt the source of that sound. Someone was trying to force open the main doors of the cargo bay.

"It's Zoë!" Kaylee exclaimed.

"But so soon?" Wash asked. He turned to check the time on the console; it'd been only an hour and a quarter since they'd left his wife and the rest of the crew in the settlement. Seventy five minutes wasn't long enough, not with all she'd had to do in town – find a safe place for the sick captain to stay out of trouble, deal with the ship's parking problems and release the landing lock, gather up Simon and River once they were done saying their fond goodbyes to Tori, then make her way out here. All without raising any settlement security hackles.

"But I guess it _could_ be her," he muttered hesitantly. "Maybe she got really lucky…"

Kaylee walked forward to the windows and leaned into them, trying to look down at the area around the cargo bay doors below. Wash followed, but the slant of the windows made it impossible to see anything useful.

Another loud clang made them both jump. Whoever was handling the doors, they weren't being gentle about it.

"But it's gotta be Zoë," Kaylee said, her voice cautiously lowered now though the new arrival could never have heard from here. "Right?"

"Only one way to find out," Wash replied. Given the tenseness of their situation here on Highgate, he'd grabbed a rifle from the weapons locker as soon as they got on board and left it tilted against the lockers behind the pilot's seat. Now he picked it up and held it at the ready.

Kaylee's jaw set; she went to her toolbox and fished out a large, heavy wrench. Their eyes met once in understanding, then they headed down to the cargo bay.

.*. .*. .*.

Zoë checked her timepiece – it had been a full hour and a third since she sent Wash and Kaylee out into the desert, off to find _Serenity_ in the shipyard outside town. Eighty minutes, and she hadn't accomplished a thing, other than leaving Mal and Jayne at a bar to keep them out of trouble. She hoped. Jayne seemed to have found himself a mantle of dependability lately, what with his handling of the crew's finances, but Mal certainly was nowhere near himself. Whether that meant he was more or less likely to find trouble… Zoë couldn't even guess.

Either way, the two were squirreled away in a suitably dark and quiet pub, leaving Zoë and Shepherd Book free to attend to more pressing business. Try to, anyway. They'd done their best, starting by asking locals for advice on how to get the authority's attention on a Sunday afternoon. They'd gotten directions to a dark little security office on a shady, unkempt side street, and what followed was a long spell of haggling with two apathetic men in grungy uniforms. One of them'd stayed in the building, the sickly blue glow of a viewscreen lighting his face as he bent over it, staring avidly. The other, a plumper man with stains on his uniform front, had seemed to take some delight in verbally sparring with Zoë and Book.

But it all'd been for nothing. The stained guard had finally admitted that he had no control over _Serenity_'s situation, since the ship had been impounded by security forces that came down from orbit. Nor did he have any suggestions as to what could be done.

Zoë'd gotten a little short-tempered at that, because there was no way the console in the guard room couldn't be used to call those who'd been offended by the lack of parking fee payment and could be talked into releasing _Serenity_. She'd nearly forced her way in, but the plump, greasy guard just managed to slam and lock the door on her. She could see him now, just barely visible through the shaded glass of the front window. He was waving at her, a smirk on his ugly face.

She spent a long moment frozen in frustration before she noticed a rusty red button next to the door, a half curled-up label above it reading: for emergencies only. She gave it a try, leaning close to the building to listen. A coarse buzzing sound carried through the wall, and through the shaded window she could just make out her nemesis, his hands over his ears and a pained scowl on his face.

She dug her thumb into the button and held it.

Eventually, Book interrupted her sport. "I don't believe they'll be coming back out. As in – ever."

She turned and grinned at him. "Ah, but revenge is sweet."

"Won't get us the ship."

She sighed and nodded, though she didn't release the button quite yet. "Suppose not. Think there's any more good to had around here?"

"It's looking thin."

"I agree. Guess we'd best try the shipyard."

"You think we'll find someone more helpful out there?"

"I think I'm done askin' for help. Damned hour and a half wasted – we should'a just gone straight out there with Wash." She finally gave up on her battle of wills, released the button, and turned to lead Book toward the northwest corner of town.

.*. .*. .*.

Junior Deputy Edward Pierce pulled his fingers out of his ears, but stayed bent over the console with his hands close to his head just in case. He listened to the silence cautiously and waited a few seconds, then a few seconds more.

"They give up?" he asked his pal and co-worker Franklin Web, who stood by the door. Frankie wore a uniform which would have exactly matched Eddie's if not for the stains that his round belly always managed to catch on the shirt front, dark spots that showed plainly in the grungy light coming in the window he was pressed up against.

"Yeah, they're leavin'," Frankie replied, his nose to the glass as his watched them go.

Eddie dropped his hands and exhaled in relief. "About time! Damned buzzer could split a head open. Why'd you keep em talkin' so long?"

"Did you _see_ that woman?" Frankie paused to sigh dramatically. "Long curly hair, big brown eyes, skin like a fancified cup of coffee, all dark and creamy and sweet…. I ain't seen a face like that in a looong while…"

"Better hope you don't see it again soon. She looked bout ready to tear you in half."

Frankie grinned. "Wouldn't complain." He lifted his chin and nodded toward the viewscreen that Eddie'd been fastened to for the past hour. "Anything new showin' there?"

"Almost got a clear view," Eddie replied. "Ship's definitely headed here to Highgate. And she's a big one."

Frankie elbowed his way in to check for himself. The viewscreen was as old as the rest of this building, but the scanner worked well enough to show that the bird getting close to entering orbit was nothing this world had seen. Ever.

"Alliance?" Frankie asked.

"Gotta be." Eddie shook his head, incredulous. "A warship. What the hell you think it's comin' _here_ for?"

.*. .*. .*.

"Why the hell are we _here_?" Lieutenant Brady muttered under his breath. His frown deepened with every sweep of his ship's scanner that brought Highgate into sharper focus on the bridge's viewscreen. This was the second time in as many months that he'd had to deal with autonomous local security forces on crappy Border worlds, but at least on Niflheim he'd had some idea of what he was out to accomplish. All he had this time was an order to get his vessel – the warship _Argent_ – to Highgate as quickly as possible. No other information had been supplied.

"Lieutenant," the young woman handling the ship's comm called out to him, "a wave for you. From Chancellor Westfield."

Brady lifted his chin and straightened his uniform jacket before he gave the woman a tight nod. "I'll take it in my office," he said, and he hurried to the door. Perhaps he was finally going to learn the reason for his sudden trip to Highgate.

.*. .*. .*.

Chancellor Richard Westfield folded his hands in front of him, squeezing his fingers together. He allowed this outward sign of excitement only because he knew it couldn't be seen by man on the viewscreen.

"I have received word," Westfield told Lieutenant Brady, "that the targets have been neutralized by some kind of knock-out gas. They are locked in a colony's medical clinic and await pick-up. You are to contact one Doctor Victoria Zhou."

Lieutenant Brady arched one brow ever so slightly. "The _Argent_ is on Highgate merely to apprehend fugitives?" he clarified, the barest note of disapproval in his voice.

The chancellor narrowed his eyes. He knew that his round, bespectacled face, balded forehead, and edging of neatly trimmed white hair belonged more to a kindly grandpa than to one of the most powerful men in the Alliance government. He sometimes rued his own appearance; it had helped him gain this position by earning the trust of those he advised, but at times he wished he had the kind of imposing looks which would make an inferior like Brady just shut up and follow orders.

"They are very, very important fugitives," he told Brady in a steady voice, not betraying his annoyance. "So important that you must keep them unconscious while in your custody. Let no one speak to them. Be sure that as few people as possible even get a chance to look at them. A ship is en route from Londinium now, and will rendezvous with you in approximately sixteen hours. The two men on board are the only ones authorized to converse with the fugitives. The only ones. You understand, Lieutenant?"

Brady nodded. "Yes, Chancellor."

"And you are to discuss this with no one but me and the two men I sent."

"Of course, Chancellor."

Westfield held Brady's eye for a second to be sure that the Lieutenant had gotten the message – these were indeed important fugitives – then cut the connection. He briefly let himself study a sheet of paper on his desk, taking in the by now familiar images of the girl and her older brother, both dark-haired and pale skinned, attractive young people who'd grown up with every benefit of upper class Alliance society, and yet they'd chosen to throw it all away. And now they posed a grave threat to the stability and security of the entire Alliance. Their complete lack of gratitude and respect disgusted him.

He threw the paper down, rose to his feet, and went to the door of his office, but paused with his hand on the knob. The knowledge that he might have the elusive Tams in military custody within a few hours made him as near to giddy as he ever got, and it took a strong effort to shift his focus to the far less interesting business waiting for him on the other side of this door.

"I apologize," he said when he finally entered the conference room. "Something came up, an urgent matter of Alliance security."

The three people waiting at the large wooden table all murmured polite denials that he'd inconvenienced them at all, and stood to greet him with firm handshakes. The woman and one of the men was familiar to Westfield; he'd worked with these two before.

"Agent Kain, Agent Alvarez," he said with as much of a smile as he ever wore during working hours. "Always a pleasure."

Of course, he was lying.

A flash of amusement passed across Alvarez's face, as if she knew it. He wouldn't be surprised. He'd never trusted this woman; she seemed to know exactly how much he hated dealing with the kind of matters she brought to his door. It was almost as if it pleased her to make him suffer through all this red tape. The organization that employed her and Kain – the Office of Professional Responsibility – was a part of the government that Westfield would disband if he could. These people did nothing but waste his time and make his job difficult.

With the two OPR agents was a man Westfield knew only from the dossier he'd studied as he prepared for his day. Trevor Marone was an upstart, nothing but a fish from a small pond who'd suddenly found himself wandering a big ocean. He'd earned his law degree at a reputable enough university on Sihnon, but spent most of the rest of his life as a minor politician on Oeneus, an isolated and predominately rural planet where nothing of any import ever happened.

Marone couldn't have ever been involved in any business as monumental as that which brought him here today, to the Parliament houses of Londinium, but he didn't appear to be intimidated by either the setting or the company. He smiled warmly as he shook Westfield's hand, the charming smile of a born lawyer and player of people.

"Greetings, Chancellor. It's certainly an honor to meet you. I've been a admirer for some time."

Westfield nodded and mumbled a hurried, "Glad you could make it." He himself wasn't a charmer of people, and had given up any pretense of trying long ago. He made better use of his energy by studying the newcomer.

Marone might have spent his free time on Oeneus working out, having his hair tended to, and consulting with wardrobe specialists brought in from some kind of inbred retirement home on whatever part of the settled verse currently substituted for the ruined Florida beaches of Earth–that-was. The final product of these influences, the man who'd just released Westfield's hand, looked like something of a joke. He flicked his head back as he turned to his chair, swinging his blond and slightly wavy hair off his forehead, then he carefully lifted the loose cream linen of his pants before he sat down, as if creasing those pants would be a momentous problem. He lifted a cup of tea which might have looked precious in his hands, except that the hands were so very large, radiating strength. The hair and the outfit didn't match the man's excellent physical condition. Marone was certainly an odd mix, one that Westfield was uneasy with.

"We know you must have a tight schedule," Alvarez said, ending Westfield's study of Trevor Marone. "Shall we get to business?"

.*. .*. .*.

Trevor Marone didn't take much part in the discussion. Alvarez was a forceful enough personality to take control, which he was fine with. He'd prefer to study the chancellor anyway.

Though Westfield wasn't a policy maker for the government – the Cabinet of Chancellors served mainly as advisors and organizers to the elected Parliament members – this man carried a great deal of power and influence. Much more than the general population understood, perhaps. If one searched the cortex long enough (as Marone had), a multitude of conflicting opinions could be found regarding this particular chancellor. Not often discussed in the headline news were the early years of Richard Westfield's career. He'd worked his way up through the management ranks of the Blue Sun Corporation, securing a huge fortune and a web of business and political contacts. Certain watchdog groups, though certainly not those which captured respectful primetime attention, didn't think much of his connections. They had no solid proof of wrong-doing by Westfield; in fact, Marone found that at least half the criticisms were pure political gamesmenship. But the other half…

Marone couldn't help wondering if the conspiracy theorists were onto something. Dick Westfield was often lurking on the edges of the government's more questionable practices, and on the few occasions that an interview with him hit the public airwaves, his kind and placid demeanor just didn't sit right with Marone. Trevor was glad to have a chance to study the man in person.

"I don't understand," Westfield told Alvarez in the placidly direct and no-nonsense way he was known for. "Wasn't a settlement reached? Wasn't this all finished weeks ago?"

Alvarez took in a deep breath. "Well, sir, we haven't found all the subjects yet."

Westfield's soft face didn't hide a slight clenching of his jaw. "That task was your organization's responsibility."

"And it has been carried out as quickly as possible," Kain replied. "Only one subject remains at large: the captain of a Firefly operating out on the Border worlds. Probably a low level smuggler. Not easy to locate, but I believe we're close. Trevor Marone has been handling the search…" Kain turn to Marone, a clear cue.

Marone slid his ankle off his opposite knee so he could sit forward and join the discussion. "Using the authority granted to me as lead prosecutor and executor of the agreement," he said, delivering the legalese without dimming the politely pleasant expression on his face, "I've assigned a few military operatives with the task of tracking Captain Malcolm Reynolds down. I'll spare you the details, but I expect to have him in custody within the next day or two."

Westfield nodded. "I hope so. This has gone on too long. The settlement you made with the Ànshuĭ Firm hinges on secrecy. If all this becomes public–"

Marone interrupted in a tight voice: the secrecy clause of the agreement was one he had fought, but he'd lost. "All parties understand, Chancellor."

Westfield fixed Marone with what might have been a disapproving stare, but his round, pink face looked sullen more than frightening. It might have made Marone smile, but just then a buzzing sounded from his own pocket. He had programmed his uTex: only one caller was allowed to interrupt this meeting.

"Pardon me," Marone said, earning frowns from everyone in the room until he added, "It's the agents carrying out the search. Hopefully, good news."

Westfield nodded and waved a dismissing hand, and Marone left the room so he could answer the call in private.

.*. .*. .*.

William Cantone nodded emphatically to the man on the ship's cortex screen. "Yeah, Captain Reynolds has got problems," he told Trevor Marone. "Gone damned near psycho!" He stopped and glanced toward his partner Ginger's bunk: he hadn't seen her since they'd got back from the disastrous encounter with Malcolm Reynolds at the Salty Tongue Saloon. She was probably still passed out, as drunk as she'd been, but he really didn't want her coming out here to interrupt this call.

"Psycho?" Marone asked.

Will kept his voice low but emphatic. "I could've been killed! I met up with him, bought him a beer–"

"You bought Captain Reynolds a beer?"

"Hey – I've been working undercover on Border worlds for over a decade, I know how things work out here. If I had tried to drag him out, we'd have had an all-out riot. These crazy hicks don't go anywhere without a gun and they'll jump into a brawl with any excuse. I know we got to keep this quiet." He sat back and added nobly, "Besides, I didn't want any bystanders getting hurt."

Marone clenched his jaw and replied in a neutral voice, "That's very proper of you."

"Thank you. So I bought him a beer, tried to trick him into coming with me quietly, or at least get him alone where a big fight wouldn't happen. I didn't count on him being insane!"

"Insane?"

"Damned straight! See this?" Will held up his right arm – his wrist was already swollen and turning purple where the captain's lady friend – nothing but a whore, in reality – had kicked him. Of course, Marone didn't know who'd done it, so let him assume Reynolds was the guilty party. The man sure was crazy enough. "I got attacked, for no reason at all!"

Marone looked thoughtful. "That's odd. They usually don't get violent…"

"_They? Usually?_ What the hell – you knew? You knew he was off the edge, and didn't warn me?"

"I didn't think you'd be trying to make friends with him. In fact, I specifically ordered you to keep your distance, didn't I?"

Will sat back and scowled. If only he'd managed to knock Reynolds out and drag him from the bar, he'd be on his way in with the job done and Marone would have no grounds to be getting critical. It was that whore's fault, Reynolds's woman, for coming in and interrupting his play with the mentally messed up captain.

No, it was Ginger's fault. If she hadn't gotten all dressed up and played the tramp with Reynold's thick-headed mercenary, they could have put up a fight...

"Do you know where Reynolds is?" Marone asked.

"Still on the world, and not leaving. He's lost access to his ship."

"Good. I'm in a meeting now, but this is the last official business. I'll be heading out your way this afternoon. Keep an eye on Reynolds – are you listening this time?"

"Yes," Will replied; he couldn't help but sound a bit sullen.

"Keep an eye on him but stay back. If he does gain access to his ship, follow him and let me know where he's going. For god's sake, don't be having any more happy hours with the man!"

Will nodded. "Oh, I guarantee you, there's no danger of that. Me and Malcolm Reynolds – we're not pals."

Will shut off the connection, then he added to himself: "No, we're not pals, and I'll make sure he knows it."

.*. .*. .*.

"You better get this straight, Malcolm Reynolds," Jayne Cobb said through clenched teeth, his eyes narrowed to give his words a tasty hint of menace. "You and me, we ain't friends, and I ain't gotta explain nothin' to you."

The threat didn't work so well as he'd have liked, because Malcolm's reply was quick in coming and voiced with an annoying edge of reasonableness. "And we ain't ever gonna be friends if you won't even try havin' a few words. First you won't drink a pint with me, which left me with nothing to do but talk to that crazy William guy, and now you won't even explain about the _lady_."

As if to make his meaning clear, Malcolm tipped his head toward the dark-haired, bronze skinned beauty who'd left them standing in the shadows of a dark grey space ship in the middle of a dusty shipyard. Inara was going back to her own little transport to get her things.

Jayne's lip curled as he watched her walk – pleasing, even under those uncharacteristically heavy and dull clothes she's disguised herself in – and considered what her "things" might include. A Registered Companion, a woman schooled from childhood to be a hired entertainer of men (and occasionally, women) had to travel with some interesting gadgets. And not just fancy tea pots and calligraphy quills – this woman was trained in all kinds of arts.

Yes indeed, in the past few weeks Jayne had missed Inara's silk dresses and fine perfumes on board _Serenity_, even if there wasn't a chance in hell she'd ever service him. Him being crew and all. Well, and not being anywhere close to able to afford her. And her being, sort of, at one time, involved with the captain…

"I'm just wonderin'," Malcolm said, breaking into Jayne's train of thought, "how it is you know this Inara person. I mean—" He snorted out a half laugh. "—she don't seem the type to spend her spare hours with a half literate antisocial mercenary primate like you."

Jayne drew himself up and glared at his captain, who was about an inch shorter and, according to Mal's broken brain, nearly two decades younger. Whatever sickness Mal had, it'd eaten away at his memories until he was left thinking he was maybe 19 instead of someplace in his early thirties. This Malcolm hadn't yet left his mama's ranch on the dusty world of Shadow, hadn't fought and lost a war against the Alliance, wasn't the owner and overbearing dictator of a Firefly freighter running whatever smuggling job he could find. This Mal had no memory a slow-to-start but quick-to-end romance with the very same woman he was currently so curious about.

"What?" Mal asked when Jayne didn't speak. "You telling me you ain't a half literate antisocial mercenary primate?"

Jayne shrugged; it all applied, and he didn't feel a need to argue. Anyhow, he wasn't much in the mood to bully the brain-sick captain. He was more interested in Inara at the moment, curious as to how she'd turned up here on this Border world when she was supposed to have left _Serenity_ for good, taken up her place in some wealthy Companion House in the Core. He was wondering how she was dealing with not even being recognized by the captain.

"I know her is all," Jayne finally said, still looking after Inara though she was gone from view. "She used to fly with us. Rented herself a shuttle and used it to do her business."

"Her business?" Mal asked.

Jayne wasn't about to try explaining; he turned back to the ship they were trying to get on board. He wasn't good with mechanical things, even when he had little Kaylee around to tell him what to do. Ship's workings just weren't his forte. But he'd seen _Serenity_'s young mechanic manage what he was hoping to figure out now, and he knew the door release was somewhere in this panel he'd pried open. He reached in and grabbed a lever he hadn't yet tried. It gave a loud screech as he forced it to pull back.

Suddenly, the ship's entry swung open beside him. But it wasn't the lever that'd done it, the port had been pushed open from inside. A head of spikey blond hair atop an orange and khaki Hawaiian shirt leaned out; _Serenity_'s pilot was holding a gun, but pointed it safely at the sky as he glared at Jayne.

Before Wash could speak, an auburn haired young woman in a light green jumpsuit hurried around him and went straight to the open panel, dropping a heavy wrench at her feet so she could push Jayne aside and lovingly caress the slightly bent levers.

"What'd you do?" Kaylee said in a keening voice. "You broke her!"

"My god, Jayne," Wash added. "Can't you just knock like a normal person?"

"More friends… um, non-friends of yours?" Mal asked.

Jayne looked around at each of them in turn, not sure who to reply to. He settled on Mal as the most ignorant. "Like I could'a been sure they was on board!" he protested.

"Where's Zoë?" Wash asked.

"Got no idea," Jayne replied.

"Simon and River?" Kaylee asked.

"Still visitin' with the lady doctor, I'd guess."

Wash walked out into the shipyard, holding his gun in front of him. He squinted against the hot, dusty, dry air and the bright sun as he turned a slow circle and scanned the horizon, then he nodded thoughtfully.

"They'd all better get back soon," he said, worry thick in his voice. "I've got a bad feeling about this place. We've stayed too long already, and danger could be lurking—" He jumped and leveled his gun at a shape that suddenly rounded a leg of the ship, then just as quickly lifted the muzzle to the sky.

"Inara?" he muttered in surprise.

Jayne had to put both fingers in his ears as a brain-splitting screech started up beside him, quickly rising in both volume and pitch. Three syllables barely could be made out in it:

"Iiiiiiii-narrrrrrr-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!"

Kaylee tore down the ramp to joyfully throw herself into the Campanion's arms.

Wash looked up at Jayne, then at Malcolm, then back at the hugging women. "Right," he said. "Of course. Inara. Here. Now." He raised a hand to his forehead and whimpered in confusion.


	2. Chapter 2

**Back Stories Book III**

* * *

_The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money._

* * *

**Chapter 2.**

Shepherd Book's deep laughter carried through the thins walls of the small building on the edge of the impoundment lot. He seemed to be enjoying his time with the guard stationed inside, much more than Zoë'd enjoyed her chat with the two louts in town.

She crouched as she passed under the building's side window, then came to a chain link fence that extended out from the concrete wall to surround the large yard. It wasn't an especially difficult chore to climb over. Judging by how the barbed wire coils on top were stretched out of shape, Zoë imagined she wasn't the first to sneak into the yard this way. Interesting – the authorities weren't too worried about folks getting access to their impounded ships, perhaps because it didn't do any good to get on board with a landing lock in place.

As far as that went, Book had once again proven himself a fount of information. When they'd gotten close to the impoundment lot, he'd taken a long look at the setup and offered an opinion about the equipment behind the guard's shack, the boxes of circuitry Zoë now saw up close as she rounded the corner of the building.

"Preacher sure is handy," she whispered to herself. He'd even had a pocket knife full of the type of gadgets she needed to take off panels, which she proceeded to do.

"And this looks to be it," she added a few minutes later, though she quickly shushed herself. She no longer heard voices from the building – maybe Book had run out of idle conversation, or maybe the guard had talked him into a game of chess. Whatever, she was ready to give this a try. Book had told her what to look for, how to identify the circuit that powered the shipyard's landing locks. She picked the biggest knife blade, took off her jacket, balled it around the knife handle as insulation aginst the current, and got ready to saw. But before she even made a mark in the wire's thick covering she heard a hiss.

She lifted her head to listen more closely.

"Psst! Zoë!"

"Āi yā," she whispered to herself. She'd almost had it. But she got right up and tiptoed back to the corner of the building and looked around – Book was at the fence, just starting to climb up.

"Did you cut yet?" he asked, still in a whisper.

"Just gettin' to it."

"Don't – I've got news."

.*. .*. .*.

They found _Serenity_ easily; more than a few ships her size were scattered about the lot, but most were so thickly covered with dust and rust that they seemed about to crumble. Next to them, _Serenity_ was a picture of mechanical health and functionality.

Zoë and Book approached from the back of the ship, so they didn't see the big man sitting on the cargo bay ramp until they walked through the cloud of smoke he'd just blown out.

"Bout time," Jayne said, looking over his shoulder at them.

"She's here?" a more eager masculine voice asked from inside the ship.

"Yes, dear," Zoë replied. "I'm home." She circled around to the bottom of the ramp to meet her husband as he hurried down.

"Yay!" he exclaimed as he gave her a brief but tight hug and a smack on the lips. "I can't wait to get out of here – this world is full of some weird events. Just wait till you see – "

"And what are you doin' here?" Zoë interrupted to demand of Jayne.

The merc pulled a half-smoked cigar out of his mouth and scowled at her. "I supposed to be someplace else?"

"Lookin' after Mal, waitin' for Simon and River. That's where."

"I done watched after the captain, or whatever he is these days. He ain't hurt none."

Zoë squinted at Jayne and stepped to the bottom edge of the ramp to get a closer look at him. The slump of his shoulders made her suspicious, but his breath confirmed it – even the smoke from his cigar couldn't hide the stink of whiskey that surrounded him.

"Them other two ain't my job," he added. His eyes slid over to Book but quickly shifted away again. "Truth is, ain't none of this mess my job, and I wish y'all'd just stay off my back about it!" With that, he spat onto the lot's cracked pavement then turned and stalked up the ramp.

Book stepped up to where the merc had been. The Shepherd stared after Jayne for a few seconds, then looked back at Zoë and said exactly what she was thinking.

"Seems a mite defensive."

Zoë looked to Wash. Her husband shrugged. "I haven't heard the full story, but I get the idea that he wasn't so—"

Wash was interrupted again, this time by Kaylee, who nearly skipped onto the ramp. Her face was lit with a kind of glee Zoë hadn't seen in the girl for some time. "Guess who's here!" she sang out. "You'll never guess, I was so surprised myself! I could'a peed my pants right on the spot when I saw –"

Zoë held a hand up. "Kaylee, please, can we just…"

A dark, upright figure appeared out of the shadows behind Kaylee, and the shock of the sight made Zoë forget what she'd been saying. In one way, the woman didn't look much like her old self; her face was smudged by dirt rather than makeup, and her slim body, usually shown to best advantage by fine silks, was hidden behind a dark, heavy cloak. But there was no mistaking her, not with the way she carried herself.

"Hello, Zoë," Inara said.

Zoë didn't answer. She didn't think the first words that came to mind were appropriate to say in mixed company.

Kaylee had no such impediments. She clapped her hands and did a little hop as she ran back to stand beside Inara, taking her hand like she just had to show solid evidence of the Companion's presence. "Can you believe it? I don't know how she found us, but here she is! I don't think I ever been so happy!"

Inara pulled her eyes off Zoë to smile at the mechanic before being engulfed in a hug.

"And there _you_ are!" another voice called from the shadows of the cargo bay behind the two women. Malcolm walked into the sunlight, his coat flapping out behind him, his eyes fixed on Zoë. For a second, he looked so like the captain he ought to be that Zoë let him catch her by the arm and turn her aside.

"I think you ought'a know," he said in a voice barely above a whisper. He glanced over his shoulder at Inara, then turned back, but held up a hand by his mouth as if he thought the Companion might read his lips. "You got to walk soft with this lady."

Zoë noted that his breath smelled of beer. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"I think she's not _all there_," he said, whispering the words in carefully distinct way. "You know." He ticked his head to the side, making a face and a sharp clucking noise at the same time.

When Zoë only stared at him, he did it again. Twice.

"A bit nuts," he clarified. "Prone to violent behaviors."

"Okay," Zoë said loudly, and she pushed Malcolm away from her, "I'm gettin' sick of asking this kind'a thing, but who is gonna explain this to me, and I mean you'd best do it _now_!"

Inara walked partway down the ramp. "Let's just get on the ship. I have a lot to tell you–"

Zoë held up a hand, index finger raised, to silence the woman. "Not you. Not. You. Wash?"

Her husband shrugged. "Bù zhī dào. She just showed up with Jayne and Mal." The captain gave him a sharp look and he corrected: "I mean, Malcolm."

"Zoë, we really have to go," Inara said – as if she had some right to hand out an order. She cast Mal a skittish look as she stepped off the ramp onto the concrete of the lot, but then passed him by and came face to face with Zoë. "I paid the fines. I talked them into releasing the landing lock. The ship is free to go."

Zoë nodded – Book had figured out nearly as much from the guard, though he'd assumed that the woman described as small, pretty, and dark-haired was Simon's doctor friend, doing a last friendly favor for _Serenity_'s crew. Never had he or Zoë guessed that the ship's liberator could be Inara Serra.

But it didn't matter to Zoë. This woman had no business here, not after what she'd done to the captain. She'd damned near made him love her, then walked out without giving any reason as to why. And his mental woes had started right after that. No, this woman wouldn't be getting a chance to hurt Mal again. Zoë was solidly decided about that.

She looked toward Wash. "Simon and River?"

Her husband held out his hands and shook his head.

"All right, we got to find them." Zoë walked up the ramp, pulling Malcolm with her. "Load up, everyone. Wash, get her warm. Kaylee, make sure the ship ain't clogged up with dust from sitting out here. Book, escort our guest–" She nodded to Malcolm to make it clear who she meant. "– to some comfortable out-of-the-way spot."

Wash hurried into the ship at a jog. Kaylee hesitated, her eyes flicking between Zoë, who stood in the shadows of the airlock now, and Inara still at the bottom of the ramp. The girl was finally seeing that she was only one jumping with joy at this unexpected reunion. "I already did a check and changed out a line that was actin' up – " she started, but Zoë interrupted.

"Go check again."

Kaylee frowned for just a second, then hurried down the ramp to squeeze Inara in another quick hug. "Can't wait till we catch up!" she said. "I got so much to tell you… I'm just glad as can be you're back!" She turned to cast a frown at Zoë, and her voice picked up a bit of an edge. "We all are, or will be once we get our heads together." Once done having her say, she passed Book and Malcolm and disappeared into the shadows of the cargo bay.

Inara stepped onto the ramp, but Zoë stopped her with a look.

"You think you're goin' someplace?

Inara's eyes widened. "I… Zoë…."

Zoë glowered down at the woman. She had some height on Inara, and the slope of the ramp only increased it. "You ain't part of this crew."

Inara gaped, like she had no words, but another voice spoke for her. "Look," Malcolm said from behind Zoë, "don't go kickin' her off cause what I said. I didn't mean – "

"Get on the ship, Malcolm," Zoë ordered stonily.

"But I don't think you ought'a just leave here, not when she –"

Zoë turned to face him. "Malcolm, you took a tour a' this boat, I take it?"

He studied her, clearly suspicious as to her change of subject, before he nodded reluctantly. "I had a gander."

"You see an automatic dish washin' machine in the galley?"

Malcolm squinted, clearly not pleased at the question. "Can't say as I noticed–"

"Well, we ain't got one, and until the captain of this ship comes back, I am the one in charge and that includes settin' the chore schedule. Less you wanna be scrubbin' plates for the next month, I suggest you get your ass on board. Mă. Shàng."

Malcolm's face turned bitter, but it wasn't more than a long second before he did as he was told, slouching away without any more response than a few inaudible mumbles. Book gave Inara a wave and a look of apology, then followed after.

Zoë turned her attention on Inara, finally able to focus on the Companion. Inara was completely flummoxed by what she'd just witnessed. She gaped and raised a hand, motioning to the spot where Mal had just stood.

"Zoë – what just…what… ?"

"The rest didn't fill you in?"

"No – and I tried to find out! They won't talk about it, not in front of him. Rén cí de Fózu, what is wrong, Zoë? What is wrong with everyone? They all… even Kaylee, she acted like it was completely normal for him to be… to do… to act like…"

"Normal ain't what it used to be," Zoë said coolly. She took a few steps back, enough so she could reach the door controls.

Inara started and stumbled back onto the dusty concrete of the shipyard when the ramp began to close, then stood, frozen with a look of disbelief. For a quick second, doubt clouded Zoë's mind; the Companion seemed tiny and fragile against the stretch of decrepit pavement and the wide open plains behind her. She must have been on quite a journey, to find them here. And not a glamorous one, judging by how she was dressed.

But Zoë couldn't have her on board. Not now, when Simon'd just found a way to bring the captain back to himself. It might border on wrong to abandon Inara in this place, but the woman would have to make do. And she surely could – Inara was nothing if not resourceful.

Zoë's battle with regret turned straight to vexation when Inara put her hands on the edge of the ramp, which had reached the level of her waist. She hopped up and twisted to sit on it, then swung her legs around.

Zoë swore and punched the controls to stop the door from lifting any further. "I ain't playin' this game!"

As Inara pushed herself to her feet her words came out in a rush. "Zoë, the Alliance is after Mal. A warship, the _Argent_, the same one from Niflheim, is on its way. It'll be here in an hour, maybe less."

"How do you – ?"

"And it's worse than that. Agents are already here – there was a man at the bar, talking to Mal. Talking to Mal, Zoë! It was Will. The one who hijacked _Serenity_, who hurt Mal, who tried to… The same man. He's an agent of the Alliance, and he was _talking to Mal_ less than an hour ago!"

Zoë froze at that, thinking back to Jayne's defensiveness. Oh yeah, he'd done something.

"That's right," Inara went on. "They came to me on Sihnon because they wanted to use me to find _Serenity_. I don't know why, but I know they were lying to me. And we both know what kind of man Will is. If they're sending him… You can't be caught, Zoë. I don't know what they want to do to Mal, but more than anything I don't want him hurt!"

Zoe folded her arms. The feeling behind Inara's words was unmistakable, and Zoë couldn't deny that she felt some pity for the woman's plight. But she just wasn't ready to forgive. "Mal's hurt wasn't always your top concern," she said pointedly.

Inara's shoulders slumped and she stared down at the ramp below her feet. "I know. Don't you think I know? I want to make amends, Zoë. That's all I ask."

"Best way to do that is to get off this ship so I can move on. I got a doctor and his sister to hunt down fore we can make our leave."

Inara straightened again and met Zoë's eye. "I'm coming with you."

"I think not." Zoë's voice was as hard as flint. "You ain't welcome here, and you never will be. Now, I can throw you off or you can take your leave like you usually do, all lady-like and proper."

The combination of insult and icy threat had no effect; Inara held her ground. If anything, she stood taller and her jaw set with plainer stubbornness. Zoë wasn't pleased to see it. Despite her words, she had no desire to get physically violent. She might be angry at Inara, but she couldn't make herself hate her. The marks of the woman's journey were making themselves known to Zoë: the Companion's face was pale except for dark circles that rimmed her eyes with no makeup to hide them. In fact, her face was thinner than Zoë recalled, almost gaunt, as if she'd spend the past few weeks haunted by her own ghosts.

Even so, the woman's stance wasn't soft. Inara studied Zoë with all the intensity of a gunhand preparing to draw. Zoë realized that the comparison was fitting – this was indeed a showdown, and Inara was choosing her weapon. It wasn't likely to go well if the Companion had the chance to define this duel her own way, but before Zoë could take action Inara made her choice. She relaxed her stance and tilted her head, her expression turning inquisitive and almost sweet. Almost – her smile had an edge of something sharp to it.

"So tell me, Zoë. How are the jobs going?"

"Pardon?"

"The jobs. Are the fuel tanks full? The engine running smoothly? And how's the galley? Well stocked?"

It was Zoë's turn to be defensive. She kept her arms folded but couldn't help shifting her feet slightly. "We got cash a'plenty on hand," she said with a raised chin. _Well_, she added to herself, _maybe not __a'plenty_. But they did have some income from Badger's selesta, and more of the same to sell off if they ever got a chance.

Inara was in her groove. She arched an elegant eyebrow in a perfect expression of amused skepticism. "Really?"

Zoë frowned; she'd never had reason to hate how this woman could read body language, but she did now. "It ain't your business whether we got cash or not." She paused at a loud rumble and a wave of dust that kicked up outside the half-open door behind Inara. Wash was getting the engines warmed and ready. "Enough of this. Just get off the– "

Inara interrupted, her voice now firm and businesslike. "I have a substantial amount of money, both credits and platinum. I also have two accounts which are not officially tied to 'Inara Serra the Companion', and I can access them anonymously from any station or outpost with a postal office." She took a few cautious steps forward, moving further up the ramp. "Zoë, I can keep this ship fueled and provisioned for some time."

Zoë started to argue, but Inara cut her off again.

"In addition, I have other skills which you would be foolish to pass by. For example, what exactly where you planning to free the ship today? Shoot-outs? Bribery? Theft?"

Zoë lifted her chin. "I had it handled. I was just about to cut out the landing lock circuits myself."

Inara took another step away from the dust that thickened in the entryway. "Which might very well have set off an alert and drawn every security guard in the system to this lot."

Zoë couldn't help clearing her throat once before she replied, "Might not have."

Inara's voice took on a honey-silk warmth. "But now you don't need to risk it, do you? You are free to take off at your leisure, and I didn't use my Companion status to make it happen. I used my charm." She paused for a smile that was full of exactly that. "I know how to work people, Zoë. I know how to open doors. I'm guessing that open doors aren't things you've seen a lot of lately, and given the people who are after Mal, you won't be seeing many in your future."

Zoë looked down at the deck; she couldn't deny it.

Inara continued her slow progress forward, finally coming to a stop right in front of Zoë. "You need me," she said. Since this duel had started, all of Inara's words had been strong, but the next few came out as a plea, with a clear note of desperation. "You need me, or they'll get Mal. Let me help you. Let me help _him_."

Zoë held Inara's eye, knowing that the Companion had just showed her weakness, her own dire need. It gave Zoë the upper hand, the power to refuse and Inara's arguments would be for naught. But Zoë couldn't do it. If there truly was an Alliance warship an hour from breaking atmo and Agents on the loose in this very settlement, she needed every bit of aid she could get. Even from Inara.

Zoë looked away first, dropping her eyes to the deck.

Inara exhaled audibly, then stepped around Zoë to climb the stairway with soft, unhurried steps.

Zoë sighed and pressed the door controls, then spoke into the comm. "Take us into town, Wash," she said, her tone resigned. "Let's find the Tams."

.*. .*. .*.

Simon kept his eyes tightly closed as he blew a carefully controlled exhale through his nose and waited for River to take her turn with the oxygen mask. Gently he stroked her hair and tried to keep his mind focused on calm, reassuring thoughts.

_We will be all right_. _We will get out of this. I will never, ever let them take you back._

It was a comfort to him to know that his sister wasn't alone in this endless existence of darkness and measured breaths, that she could hear something from him even though the drugged air didn't allow him to speak aloud. He didn't know how it worked, if she actually understood the words or only sensed emotion like clouds of color and mood, but just in case he kept repeating in his mind, as clearly as he could: _Stay calm. Don't move. We will be all right. Just hold on, just a little longer…_

Of course, he had no way of knowing how much longer. It could have been a several hours since Tori had locked them in here, or it could have been twenty minutes. He doubted the latter though; both of his legs'd had the chance to fall asleep now, more than once.

_I wish I'd counted breaths,_ he thought._ At least I'd have some idea of where we stand._

River shifted suddenly, moving onto her knees and taking his free hand in both of hers. Simon kept passing the mask between them, but his attention focused on her motions as she began to gently knock her knuckles against his palm. She was tapping out a pattern. Numbers.

Seven, pause.

Five, pause.

Eight, stop.

_That many? Each? OK, maybe 5 seconds per breath, so that makes… _He started to calculate but she was tapping already.

Two, long pause.

Six, stop.

_Twenty six minutes? _

She slapped his shoulder and took his hand, manipulating it into a fist with his index finger jabbing up at the ceiling.

_You're right, it has to be longer. Two hours, six minutes?_

Keeping her hand in contact with his so he could feel it, she spread her fingers and waggled her hand side to side.

_Give or take… some._

She let go of his hand and settled down against his side again, hugging him. They sat like that, reestablishing the timing of inhales and exhales, while Simon considered the situation. Two hours was a long time to be in this position, helplessly trapped in the dark, surrounded by poison air. But it might not be long enough for Zoë to be missing them yet. It all depended on how much trouble the crew was having getting the ship free. The crew wasn't supposed to meet up again until sunset, and, if River's count was right, that was still several hours away.

How much longer could he and River stay here? Tori had said the Alliance was coming, but she hadn't said when. She'd contacted the authorities sometime that morning, perhaps early. It might have been several hours ago, and the Alliance could move quickly when they chose to. They could be close already, in orbit right now, a shuttle on its way down, perhaps landing right outside the clinic…

Impatience and dread swelled in Simon's chest. He couldn't just sit here and wait for some armed goon to knock down the door and take River away. No matter the limitations he faced, the desperation of this situation, surely he could find some way to act.

River knocked her knuckles against his chest excitedly. He put a hand over her fist and realized that her thumb was pointed up.

Agreement. Enthusiastic agreement.

_OK,_ he thought,_ I have to find a way out of here. Only one exit – the door. Locked. Very locked. No method of communication. No comm at all. We can't talk anyway – the gas is getting to me as it is…_

He rubbed his sore eyes and River patted his cheek sympathetically.

_So, we have to go through the door. No other way. But how? It has a window. Thick glass, reinforced, but it is glass. If only we had something heavy and strong enough… _

A memory flooded into his mind suddenly: special sessions at the beginning of each term at MedAcad, legally required lab safety training….

_Of course!_

Even as the details of a plan began to coalesce in his mind, River snatched the mask away from him. He heard her take in and blow out three quick breaths, followed by a long, deep inhale, then the mask was pressed back into his hand and she was gone.

.*. .*. .*.

Translations

Āi yā: damn

Bù zhī dào: Don't know.

Mă. Shàng: Right. Now.

Rén cí de Fózu: Merciful Buddha


	3. Chapter 3

**Back Stories Book III**

* * *

_The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money._

* * *

**Chapter 3.**

Inara slid a gentle hand along the railing as she slowly climbed the fore cargo bay stairs, but once off the catwalk and out of Zoë's sight she had to stop to let her reaction to the confrontation wash through her. What in the world had happened to the crew in the past few weeks? Mal acting like a completely different person, the crew playing along as if it was normal, Zoë very nearly casting her off the ship without explanation…

She forced herself to be calm, to even out her breathing and slow her pulse, then continued on toward the bridge. Perhaps Wash would explain.

She glanced into the dining room as she passed – Mal was sitting at the long side of the table facing the galley, Book across from him, pouring tea into a pair of mugs. For just a second, Inara caught and held the captain's eyes, eyes she'd pictured in her mind more than once over the past few weeks. She felt her breath leave her again in a rush.

_Gods, I do love him,_ she realized. But his eyes held no real recognition, and his nod was impersonal. This wasn't the man she'd left on this ship not much more than a fortnight ago. She turned away quickly.

She found Wash on the bridge talking into the comm. "So where are we we going, my lovely gē de dàn?" he said into the handpiece.

_Doc was heading to the med clinic_, Zoë replied. _Let's check in there first._

Inara came in behind the co-pilot's seat. Wash glanced at her and nodded as he replied to his wife. "I figured. Setting down now."

_Soon as you do, check on Inara. Make sure she goes no where near Mal._

Wash glanced at Inara again. "Uh… Okay. We're good on that because she's right here."

The silence from the comm extended a long second before Zoë replied in a defiantly firm voice: _Good. Keep her with you._

Wash returned the comm to its cradle above his head, then made an awkward half apology. "My wife. Really a sweet, loving woman. But when she's mad…"

Inara shook her head and held up a hand – she didn't need him to finish that sentence. The explanation she really craved didn't involve Zoë's hostility. "Wash, what happened? And please no more runaround – tell me what happened to him."

Wash kept his hands firmly on the ship's controls and his eyes on the console as he guided the ship toward the ground, but he managed a shrug. "He's sick."

Inara slipped into the co-pilot's seat. "Sick?"

She had to wait for a reply as Wash focused on his landing, then a bit longer as he flipped a few switches to shut down the main engines. When he finally turned to her, his face was abnormally serious. "Yeah. Sick. He started forgetting things. And kept forgetting things. And now… Well, you saw."

"I saw. I'm not sure I believe." Inara shook her head, then rose to her feet and walked forward, looking out the windows. The ship was perched on the edge of the settlement; a wide street stretched out under _Serenity_'s nose toward the dense center of town. Zoë appeared below, striding quickly, then stopped and looked back toward the ship. Kaylee jogged out to meet her, then the two continued on toward a low building a few doors down the street.

.*. .*. .*.

Zoë paused when she heard footsteps running toward her from the ship.

"Need a hand?" Kaylee asked, half out of breath. The girl's eyes roamed the buildings ahead, then settled on the clinic. Her joyful smiles at seeing Inara again had been replaced by a worried frown.

"May as well," Zoë said with a small nod.

"I sure hope Simon's all right," Kaylee said as they hurried along. "Ain't like him to keep us waitin'."

"Except when he gets kidnapped by hill people," Zoë muttered. She regretted her words when she saw the worry in Kaylee's eyes turn to outright fear. "Which there are none of hereabouts," Zoë added firmly.

"That we know of."

"Kaylee, he's fine. Maybe just chatting up his doctor friend. Maybe he wants her to say a few hellos to his old school pals, deliver letters, that kind of thing."

Kaylee didn't reply, but her mouth pinched and she walked faster.

.*. .*. .*.

Simon reached after River as she slipped away, and involuntarily his eyes opened. He saw nothing but a blur that stung his already irritated eyes, making him squeeze his lids shut and wipe tears from his face. He tried to ride out the burn while he focused on breathing. And listening to follow his sister's actions.

Glass broke, but not from the direction of the door. It was in the back of the room where the fire safety equipment was housed. Only a soft blow, tiny thin shards tinkling as they hit the floor. Then River grunted with exertion, pulled at something, lifted something…

Soft footsteps approached and she was with him again, in front of him, grabbing the oxygen mask and taking a few deep breaths. He heard a metallic clunk; she was holding something heavy and had let it rest on the ground for a moment while she filled her lungs. She soon passed back the mask, gave him a comforting (and somewhat annoying) pat on the head, and was gone.

Simon waited in the dark void, could do nothing but wait while he heard a hard blow, and a second, then a third that broke glass. Heavy glass this time, a deeper sound. Then another clang as her battering ram fell to the floor, followed by a short silence – Simon could imagine his sister, eyes tightly closed and mouth pinched shut, reaching through the shattered pane of glass in the lab's door, groping for the keyboard and door release outside…

As soon as he heard the latch release and the door swing open, Simon threw aside the mask and pushed himself to his feet. He ran into a table, bruising his hip, then stumbled on the fire ax that River had used to break out. But he found his way, even with closed eyes. The sounds from the hall guided him – Tori's suddenly raised voice.

"How did you … ? I thought…"

He passed through the door and quickly pulled it closed behind him. Finally he could open his eyes, but after so long he was barely able to see. He made out two blurry shapes further down the hall: Tori had just come out of her office, but River had gotten on the far side of her. His sister stood just at the doorway from the waiting room, blocking the exit.

River's voice rose in hall, so hoarse it was difficult to make out. "Put things in my brain. Dŏng ma? Put things in my brain!"

Tori took a step back toward her office, but River was there first, blocking the way, and Tori backed off.

"River…" the woman muttered, a fearful shake in her voice.

Simon's eyes were still burning – drugged air was leaking out the window in the lab door. He ran into an exam room and tore a large strip of paper from the bed and grabbed white cloth tape from a drawer. By the time he returned to the hall he was better able to focus. River was advancing on Tori, and he had to admit that she looked more than a bit frightening with puffy eyes and hair hanging in her face. But more disturbing than her appearance was her expression of rage. Simon hadn't known that his little sister could be that angry.

"Cut into my _brain_!" River gasped at Tori. "Took bits out. Put other things in…"

Tori was completely unaware of Simon as she backed down the hallway toward him. "They did, River. _They_ did. I never hurt you!"

"You would send me back!"

Simon held his breath as he hurried to cover the window in the lab's door.

"They made me _open_," River went on. "Made it so ugly, bad things got in and I couldn't stop them, can't even see them. Do you know what that's like? Do you know what it's like to have these things hiding in my brain?"

When he finished sealing the door, Simon turned to find Tori only two meters from him, holding her hands out to River as if the girl was a mad dog that could be placated. Simon found himself understanding the feeling – he almost didn't recognize his sister. River's mouth was set in a snarl, her hands clenched in fists as she stalked toward Tori like she meant to tear the woman apart.

"You can't take this personally, River," Tori pled. "I have nothing against you. Even after you broke in here, hurt my hired man, tried to steal from me – I forgave you. I forgave you!"

River wasn't mollified. She continued to step forward, her body shaking. Simon waited by the door he'd just sealed up, not sure what to do. But then River's eyes shifted to him, and he read in them, and in a slight quirk of her mouth, something knowing, something logical, something beyond the emotions that had seemed to be controlling her.

Suddenly, Simon understood his sister's plan. For a moment he wondered if maybe he could read her mind as well as she read his, because their timing was perfect. He opened the door to the lab just as River lunged forward; Tori shied back, stumbled, than fell into the lab.

Simon closed the door and moved aside just as River spun and and struck out with her leg, a move that rivaled the grace of anything he'd ever seen her do on a stage. Her heel shattered the keypad which controlled the lock to the lab's door, sending sparks flying. They both stood and watched a shadow move behind the sealed over window. A hand reached up, grasping at the taped paper and trying to tear it, but the effort was weak and ineffectual. Simon could hear Tori coughing and choking as the system she'd designed did its work on her. The hand slid back and he heard a body slump to the floor.

"I forgive you," River said softly.

.*. .*. .*.

"He doesn't remember any of you?" Inara asked Wash. "Not even Zoë?"

"Close as we can tell," Wash replied, "he thinks he's nineteen, maybe twenty years old. He doesn't remember the ship or any of us, not even the war. The good news is – he won't be forgetting any more. The whole reason we're on Highgate was so Simon could work out a treatment to help him. And it's working."

Inara looked back out the window; Zoë and Kaylee had reached a large low building and stood at the entrance, unsuccessfully trying to get in. Even at this distance, Zoë's impatience was obvious as she raised a fist to bang at the door.

Inara glanced at Wash. "Will this treatment make him remember who he is?"

"We don't know."

Inara sighed and turned to look back out. Zoë raised her arm to knock again, but just then the door pushed open.

Zoë stepped back as the Tams came stumbling out. Their hands wiped at their faces and they seemed disoriented. Inara put a hand on the window and leaned closer, and if that'd help her see and understand better. Kaylee ran to Simon, put an arm around him while her other hand went to his face. River came to a stop in the middle of the street and stood hunched, her hands blocking the sun from her eyes.

"What is it?" Wash asked.

"Simon and River," Inara replied.

Wash came to stand next to her at the window. They both watched as Zoë went to River, put a hand on the girl's shoulder and bent to look at her face. Whatever she saw, it couldn't have too bad, because she gave the girl a gentle push toward the ship then turned to speak to the other two. Kaylee nodded and began to guide Simon after River.

"Are they okay?" Inara asked.

"You got me," Wash replied. He returned to his seat and flipped switches; Inara felt the deck beneath her feet vibrate slightly as the engines powered on again. The foursome outside picked up their pace and soon disappeared under the nose of the ship.

Inara turned away, and was just settling into the co-pilot's seat when Zoë's voice sounded over the comm: _Wash, get us out of here!_

The ship immediately lifted, the settlement beneath them disappearing in a cloud of dust.

"How long has it been happening?" Inara asked.

"What?" Wash asked, his hands busy on the controls.

"Mal. How long has he been sick?"

Wash glanced at her once, quickly. "A while. I don't know. You'd have to ask Simon."

Inara leaned back in the co-pilot's seat and chewed on everything Wash had said, as well as everything he hadn't. Clearly, he had more details that he didn't want to share. It frustrated her.

But it wasn't just Wash's caginess that bothered her; she'd been so apprehensive of seeing Mal again, of facing his anger and wounded pride. But now she had to admit that she'd also been thrilled, almost eager to once again take up the battle, as if the ire Malcolm Reynolds raised in her was more valuable than all the soft admiring words of her genteel clients. And now she found that she wasn't going to be able to talk to Mal, not really. No confrontation, no chance to explain why she'd left him. Just the impersonal strangeness of a young man who didn't _know_ her as Mal should, both her strengths and her oh-so-many weaknesses.

The ship was rising through high, wispy desert clouds when a parade of footsteps clambered up the stairs. Inara turned her chair around, then rose to greet the new arrivals.

Simon came to a hard stop as soon as he stepped through the hatch. The light from the windows illuminated his face, and Inara could see what had concerned Kaylee: his eyes were puffy and watery, and faint red marks surrounded his mouth as if he'd been wearing a mask. He stared at Inara, squinting against the sunlight outside, then he wiped at his eyes and stared again.

"Um, where did… ?" he stuttered.

"Ain't it great?" Kaylee exclaimed. She passed Simon and came forward to stand next to Inara, winding on arm around her waist.

"Hello, Simon," Inara said. She tried to smile warmly, but Zoë and River had also arrived and now three pairs of eyes stared at her with something less than joyful welcome.

Inara left Kaylee's hold and took a hesitant step forward. "River ," she tried, holding out a hand to the girl, "I've missed you."

River didn't move at all. She didn't even blink.

"Inara," Simon said haltingly. He seemed to be trying to mind his manners, but his surprise was still getting the better of him. "It's… it's good… to see you."

River, on the other hand, made no effort to be welcoming. "What are you doing here?" she demanded shortly.

Her tone made Inara's smile falter. "I'm helping, honey."

River's mouth pinched and she seemed about to say something more, but instead she turned and disappeared out the hatch.

"You wouldn't believe the day she's had," Simon said in apology. He looked after his sister and took a hesitant step aft, but then stopped and turned toward the windows. The pale blue of the sky was darkening as the ship rose higher, and Simon seemed concerned about what they'd find in the Black.

"I'll check on her, Simon," Kaylee offered. "You stay and help with the getaway."

Simon smiled at the mechanic gratefully. "Thank you."

Inara noted another change in the crew: as Kaylee passed by Simon, she paused and lifted her face. Simon leaned toward her, as if they were about to kiss, but then they both pulled back and glanced around the bridge awkwardly.

No one but Inara was watching. Kaylee smiled at her briefly, then hurried to follow after River.

Inara caught Simon's eye, but he didn't explain. He stepped closer to take her offered hand and squeeze it. "I'm sorry I'm so… it really is good to see you." He raised his free hand to his forehead. "I'm just confused…"

"And who ain't?" Zoë interrupted. "But let's save the fond hellos till we're far from Highgate. We're not quite free of this mess yet."

"Oh, the truth you speak," Wash said over his shoulder. He took one hand off the flight controls to tap the scanner screen. "Have a look."

Zoë bent over the console. "Qīn wŏde pìgu. Company."

"_The biggest kind_," Inara added softly, recalling Mr. Universe's words. She wasn't in time then – they hadn't beat the arrival of the Alliance warship that the communications guru warned her about. She moved swiftly, stepping around Zoë and slipping back into the co-pilot's seat. "Don't go anywhere near them," she told Wash. "They know what kind of ship Mal flies. If they identify us–"

Zoë glared at Inara, but Wash spoke up before his wife could share what was on her mind. "We might blend," he said hopefully. "We're not the only ones hightailing it."

Inara leaned to the side to study the screen, and understood Wash's meaning. The arrival of the Alliance warship had sent dozens of small vessels scurrying from the planet's surface, like cockroaches scuttling for cover at a sudden light. Most were, like _Serenity_, circling to exit atmo on the far side of the world from the warship, making a loose but chaotic stream that trickled out into the Black.

Wash snorted. "Lot of guilty consciences around here."

"They ain't trying to stop anyone," Zoë said. "Just settling into orbit. But it looks like… a smaller ship just separated from the warship. Somethin' more mobile…"

Inara inhaled sharply. "Wash, can you evade it?"

Zoë lifted her head and shot another glare at Inara. "Pardon me, but I don't believe you bought yourself a leadership role on this ship."

"But Zoë, I told you they were coming. I know what they're after! I've been talking to Mr. Universe, and he told me that they were on their way. They'll be coming after _Serenity_, just as soon as they see us–"

Simon interrupted from the back of the bridge. "No, they won't."

Both Zoë and Inara turned to frown at the doctor.

"Most likely, they think that River and I are at the clinic. Tori didn't have a chance to tell them that we got away. She thought we were unconscious, and River stopped her from reaching the cortex in her office."

"Simon, what the hell are you talkin' about?" Zoë demanded.

Simon's brows drew together in confusion. "I'm… talking about the Alliance, and where they're going to look for us."

"But they're after Mal," Inara insisted. "The reason I came to find you all, the reason I searched you out – they're after _him_."

"Why would they be after Mal?" Simon asked. "I mean… besides the usual. Why would they suddenly want him bad enough to send that kind of ship?" He motioned toward the window – they had completely left atmo, and an Alliance warship could just be seen over the glowing limb of the planet.

"I don't know," Inara admitted with a shake of her head. "I wasn't able to find out. But I know for certain that Alliance agents are here. They located Mal and very nearly got to him, and since they know that he flies a Firefly they'll be after us as soon as they identify–"

"Actually," Wash interrupted, his eyes on the scanner screen, "I'm going to have to side with the doctor on this one."

Inara turned to Wash, surprised. "What?"

"The warship isn't moving, and the shuttle they sent out is dropping into atmo. Heading toward the settlement we just left, in fact. Kind of gels with Simon's theory…"

Inara gaped at the screen – what Wash said was true. "Oh. Well. I guess that's good. I mean, good that they're not following the ship…" She looked up at Simon and finally made the connection between the doctor's appearance and the things he was saying. "Simon – someone turned you in? What happened? Are you all right?"

He rubbed his face self-consciously. "I'm fine. It's just the gas she tried to sedate us with."

"He ran into a woman he used to date," Wash explained. "Obviously still harbors the wounds."

Simon frowned at Wash, then replied to Inara, "Long story. But what's this – the Alliance is after Mal?"

Inara smiled wryly. "Long story."

"Uh, pardon me," Wash called out. "Since it appears that we're sans pursuit for the moment, why don't we go somewhere that's far? And fuel and supplies would help – we never got a chance to fill up."

"Agreed," Zoë said. "Choose a place, Wash, anyplace that ain't here. Simon, you go on to the galley." Her eyes settled heavily on Inara. "I'll be havin' a palaver with you, doctor – after I get in a word with the lady here."

.*. .*. .*.

Translations

gē de dàn: dove of peace

dŏng ma:understand?

Qīn wŏde pìgu:Kiss my ass


	4. Chapter 4

**Back Stories Book I****I****I

* * *

**

_The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money._

_A new chapter – finally!  
I have several written, and will post one a week until I run out.__  
Hopefully I'll have the ending done before that happens…_

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 4**

Shepherd Book's hands fiddled with the burner controls as he tried to focus his attention on the tea kettle, but his eyes kept returning to the man—young man?—sitting at the dining room table.

Since Malcolm came into the amnesiac state of believing himself no more than a score of years in age, he'd been a teenaged mix of playful and cocky. He did have a basic level of respect for his "elders", but tempered it with a streak of rebellion and cheek that tried one's patience. None of this was a surprise to Book; he would have expected as much of Mal Reynolds at any age.

But now another facet of young Malcolm's personality was showing itself, one Book hadn't quite been expecting. In truth, it was fascinating. The inner contemplation that had so often ruled the grown-up Mal Reynolds, a characteristic Book had always attributed to the unfortunate outcome of the war, now had complete control of the younger man. The mood didn't carry such gravity in Malcolm, and neither was it concealed by the defensive gruffness or sharp humor that the captain made liberal use of. In young Malcolm's transparent face, Book could almost follow the path of thoughts, could imagine the twists and turns of logic that made frowns and furrows play across those usually guarded features.

The root of the young man's mood was easy enough to guess: surely Malcolm was mulling over the hostile meeting between Inara and Zoë at the ship's cargo bay doors. Malcolm was likely wondering at Zoë's refusal to let Inara board, and curious as to the past events which had led to such a confrontation. When he sighed heavily and shook his head, he had to be thinking that he'd never see Inara again, never have a chance to hear her tale and understand her strange ways. Then Malcolm's eyes turned further inward: he was wondering at himself, questioning the urge that had him speaking up to defend a women who, up till that point, had earned nothing but his suspicion and distrust.

Both hope and fear rose in Book at the thought that the encounter with Inara had shaken something loose in the captain, a buried memory too strong to be denied. Would such a shake-up help or harm?

Book soon had a chance to test his theories. Inara had apparently won her way past Zoë, because she appeared in the fore portal and glanced into the dining room. Her eyes met those of the forgetful captain, and in that instant Book felt something, something intangible, like the expectation that thickens the air in the insant between a nearby lightening strike and the sharp peal of thunder that must follow. But the thunder clap never came, and the moment stretched until Inara, without showing visible reaction, turned and disappeared into the shadows of the fore corridor.

Malcolm kept to his seat but his eyes held a line toward the bridge. Even when Book took the steaming kettle and a pair of mugs to the table, the captain's attention didn't shift. Book didn't try to force the conversation. He poured the tea and waited.

"She's something, huh?" Malcolm said when the mug in front of him finally called his attention back into the room. "Maybe got her strange ways, but still…"

Book watched him closely. "Still—what?"

"I dunno." Malcolm stared down at his mug and swirled the tea. "I guess it's just odd how she ain't real welcome here, `cept with Kaylee. I felt bad for her, this Inara." He rolled the name on his tongue, like it was an exotic spice he hadn't quite mad eup his mind about. "Guess that's why I spoke up when I did. She just didn't seem to deserve being treated so cold."

The Shepherd nodded grimly. "Perhaps no one does. But Malcolm, you shouldn't blame Zoë. There's more going on here than you know. The crew's last parting with Inara was… Well, I try my best not to get involved with matters like that, but it wasn't friendly."

"She do something?"

"In a way."

"What?"

Book sighed; he should have known better than to bring this up. "Nothing that's any of my business."

Malcolm frowned, unsatisfied with that answer.

Book left his mug on the table and went to the alcove to gather the Tall Card deck; he wanted nothing more to do with this topic. Malcolm, young though he might think he was, got the hint. He let the discussion of Inara's history lay idle while Book dealt, and they played out a hand until sunlight shifting through the windows above showed that the ship was again on the move. Seconds later, another arrival sounded on the stairs. The Tams, accompanied by Zoë and Kaylee, rushed toward the bridge without a single glance into the dining room.

Malcolm raised an eyebrow at Book. The Shepherd's only response was to play a card, which Malcolm trumped with a grin.

Book was just beginning to shuffle for another game when soft footsteps pulled his attention aside. River stepped into the large room, her leather boots almost silent against the deck. Her eyes, red and swollen as if they'd been in the company of very strong onions lately, fixed on the captain. She made her way toward the table, taking a slow, indirect approach that made that Book think of a hungry lioness on a wide open savannah, circling her doomed prey. He paused in his shuffling, more than a little curious about the girl's intent, as well as what could have gotten her face into such a state, but just as she reached the table and began to sink into the chair at the head of the table Kaylee scurried in behind her.

"Do you two know about her?" Malcolm asked, addressing both girls though his focus settled on Kaylee. And no wonder – the mechanic looked much more open to conversation than the intensely brooding River.

"Know what about who?" Kaylee replied as she pulled out a seat between River and Malcolm.

"About what this Inara lady did? Zoë don't seem fond of her, but it appears the lady got on board the ship anyhow. I just wonder what the fuss was."

Kaylee's mouth dropped open but not a sound came out. She was no more up to dealing with this question than Book was.

River, however, had no qualms. "She's a whore," the girl said calmly.

"_Companion,_" Kaylee corrected, turning a look of shocked disapproval on River.

"Companion?" Malcolm asked, as his look turned thoughtful. "Yeah, I heard of them. Thought they were all like, like royalty or somethin'. Live in palaces in the Core, with all the best of everything. What's she doin' here? No offense and all, but…"

"She's making trouble," River said gloomily. "Good at that."

"River!" Kaylee admonished. "Inara ain't trouble. She's trying to _help_ us. What's gotten into you?"

River glowered at the mechanic. Simon came down from to the bridge just then, looking as green around the edges as his sister. River glanced at him, then pushed her chair back and stood up. "I feel sick," she announced. She shook her head at Simon, refusing an offer that hadn't made it past his lips, then focused her swollen eyes on Malcolm one more time.

"Stay away from her. You'll be happier."

The girl disappeared out the aft hatch on silent feet as her brother took her place at the table.

"Are you all right, Simon?" Book asked.

"I'm fine," Simon replied, though he still dabbed at his eyes. "I'll explain—let's just wait for Zoë so I can tell the tale once."

Book nodded and they all sat quietly. Not even Malcolm spoke up against the gentle background hum of the engines as the stars of the Black replaced Highgate's arid blue sky in the windows above.

.*. .*. .*.

Zoë kept her voice low. With Wash on the bridge to her left and much of the rest of the crew in the dining room on her right, she didn't want to be overheard.

"I can't have you wonderin' the ship," she told Inara. "You're here and you can share your fancy bank accounts all you want, but you ain't crew and you won't go near him. Got it?"

Inara shifted at that, and her crackling eyes spoke for her.

"In fact, you won't step foot out a' that shuttle," Zoë went on. "Not unless you get permission first. Permission from me. You'll stay in there till you starve if you don't hear my voice telling you to open the hatch. You got it?"

Inara's face held its stubborn stiffness, but she didn't argue. She only nodded and said in a quiet voice, "I brought some things from my transport. They're in the bay."

"Pick 'em up, then head straight to the shuttle."

Inara turned and rounded the corner toward the stairs without even a brief glance into the dining room.

Zoë took in a deep breath and decided to take care of another little bit of business before she went to hear the doctor's tale. She stepped up to Jayne's bunk and rapped on the hatch. When no reply came, she pushed the door open and called down the ladder: "Jayne, you in there?"

After a few seconds, the mercenary appeared in the well, frowning up at her. "What?"

"I think you know what."

He huffed and looked away.

"Wasn't a hard job I set on you, Jayne."

"Harder 'n you think," he mumbled.

"All you had to do was keep him out of trouble, but you left him talking to an Alliance agent. What the hell were you doing?"

Jayne looked up as he protested. "I didn't know what that guy was! How was I supposed to figure on a Fed coming into that place? Looking for Mal out here?"

"Well, now you know. And now I need to know about you. This ain't the time for games, Jayne. The water we're in is the hot kind, and I can't be worried over whether my hired man is feeling in the mood to do his job. I need to know if you're solid. I need to know if I can count on you."

He shuffled his feet, his focus again down at the deck, and shook his head. "You just ain't no fun anymore," he mumbled. "Ain't none of this any fun."

Zoë had to chew on that for a second; she never would have expected Jayne to be worried about something as monetarily useless as _fun_, but he did have a point. She surely hadn't been much fun lately. Not at all. But she couldn't let herself dwell on that.

"Can I count on you?" she asked again, keeping herself stern.

Jayne looked up. "I'm here, ain't I?" he snapped, then he reached for the hatch controls.

Zoë stepped back and let the door close in her face. It was all she was going to get from him, and it'd have to be enough.

She looked toward the bridge. Wash had come down the stairs and was standing a few meters away, watching her. She wondered how long he'd been listening in. He'd likely heard her talk with Jayne, but had he heard what she'd said to Inara? How she'd ordered the woman to lock herself away, like some kind of prisoner of war?

Zoë couldn't meet Wash's eye. _You just ain't fun anymore._ Now why did Jayne's words bother her so?

"I don't like being like this," she admitted, still not looking at Wash.

"So don't," he suggested bluntly, as if it was that easy.

She took in a deep breath. "Don't know how else to be. Not now."

Wash moved closer to her, putting himself right in front of her so he could wrap an arm around her waist and ask with a heart-warming sincerity, "Can I help?"

She closed her eyes and let her head rest against his. Yes, he could help. He did help, just by being who he was. Just by being here next to her.

"You got a course set?" she asked.

Wash drew back. Her question must not have been a welcome one, because his reply was almost cold. "There's a midway station over toward Muir. Good for a quick fueling stop."

She understood; he'd meant to offer his help as a husband, not a pilot, and her question had stung him. But it was where her mind had to go. Business—she had to focus on business. Their survival depended on it. Not just Mal's, but the entire crew's. Everything else had to wait.

"Good," she told him, the word coming out with a blunter edge than she'd meant. "Now I got to deal with Simon, find out what held him up back at that clinic." She untangled herself from Wash's loose grip and stepped toward the galley.

"Zoë," he called after her. "What happened?"

She stopped and looked back to him.

"What happened to you on that moon?"

She looked away again. She hadn't known that he could see so much.

"Come on, it's me. I can tell something happened."

She shook her head and turned away again.

"Not now, husband. Work to be done."

.*. .*. .*.

Will Cantone took a draw from a large bottle he'd managed to pick up before leaving Highgate's surface, then mumbled:

"Freedom. It's all about freedom."

He was babbling aloud to himself, like a back alley hobo who'd lost his way and quite possibly his mind. But what did it matter? With Ginger still passed out in her bunk, no one was going to hear. No one was even likely to see his ship, floating out here in the void like it was.

No matter how much drink Will'd had, he was still plenty capable of piloting, of keeping a low orbit. He wanted to stay hidden from the Alliance warship sidling up to the far side of Highgate. Whatever their business, it couldn't be the same as his, and he didn't want the distraction of explaining himself to a bunch of uniforms. Not that he was upset over it; their arrival might just help him. The proles down planetside were already taking note and fleeing for the sky.

"Pissing their pants," he muttered. "No backbone, not a solid leg to stand on. Just like some Independent yīn bù in the war. Nothing but worthless garbage like them would live out here."

He stopped and bit his lip, aware of an uncomfortableness trying to uncurl in his gut, then took another drink. This kind of quiet stakeout wasn't new to him, but having to steer the course of his own thoughts, as if he feared to see too far into himself, surely was. So he made himself reminisce on a welcome topic: the war.

He missed the war. He wasn't ashamed to admit that he missed the sense of purpose it once gave him. Back then, he'd never needed avoid the kind of heavy thoughts that were threatening to break loose in his head now. Back then he'd never pondered the safety of his place in the `verse. War made things simple like that. The enemy was Bad and he was Good and his day-to-day life was well-defined by the Mission and anything he needed to do to make it happen was A-OK. Absolutely anything.

Now, that was freedom.

It was harder now. Questions, mission parameters, rules of engagement, reports to be written and explanations to be made… Peacetime brought limits, and limits were no fun.

"I hate bein' in the Core," he muttered, surprising himself. But it was true. Sure, he liked some things about the civilized worlds: the food, the good booze that didn't leave such a headache, the decent bathing facilities and the warm, soft beds. The beautiful women he never had a problem finding, not with his looks and easy charisma and his stories of heroic wartime adventures. He could be living an easy life in the Core right now; he had money enough in hardship pay to support himself in something close to style for the years he had left in him. But there was no freedom in the Core, not like a man could find on the Rim worlds. And, in the end, it was all about freedom.

"I do love it out here," he said softly, raising his eyes to the dead end planet hanging in the Black above him. It was the first time he'd followed such logic to its end and admitted this to himself, but the revelation made nothing but sense. Of course he loved it out here—why else would he have chosen to keep working these kinds of jobs for so long? Why did he jump at the chance to spend weeks shut in a tiny ship with a prune like Ginger, rather than stationed on a cruiser with soft, nubile recruits and a comfortable bunk? And why didn't he ever retire to some pleasant and not-too-remote world where the locals paid a proper kind of respect to those who'd served the military might of the Alliance?

"I could be a king in a place like that," he muttered, "but there'd be no _freedom_. Here, I've got freedom."

He smiled at the green/gold/aqua world outside the wide windows of his craft. It was ironic, he supposed, that his job was to fight a way of life he himself liked so much. If the goals of his superiors were ever met and these lawless worlds were fully brought to heel, he'd have no place to roam. Only in the chaos between a bloated Alliance and its defeated but untame worlds could a man like William Cantone find his place.

Sure, he might be able to wheedle respect and admiration out of people in the Core, but that's not what he wanted. What he wanted could only be had in places like this.

He wanted to call the shots. He wanted to rule with an iron hand. He wanted fear. "God, the power of that," he whispered, letting his eyes fall shut. The power of making a human spirit break was what he craved. The stronger the spirit, the better the rush.

_I'm drunker than I thought_, he added silently, because he couldn't stop himself from giving in to his own reaction, mind and body and soul, as he recalled all the times he'd been in charge of another person in such a way. That kind of control, that kind of strength, brought a thrill to him, near to sexual in its power. And, really, it should. It was the deepest kind of lust a man could experience, to seize and occupy a person so fully. It may not be the kind of lust civilized types smiled on, but that only made Will's situation that much more precious, being that it was so rare. In such a big `verse, where the individuality of a single human being is meaningless, William Cantone had worked long and hard to find his own niche, to eke out a way of life that allowed him to fulfill his own needs. But he'd found it. He'd found it, and he would defend it to his own death if need be.

Will's heavy thoughts began to sort themselves out, revealing the the root of the discomfort that had been twisting in him, baring it to his inner eye whether he wanted to see it or not. It all came down to a single problem: his Way was in danger. The thread had started unraveling on the day Will'd hijacked the Firefly _Serenity_ on Niflheim. Captain Malcolm Reynolds had been a hostage on his own ship, weaponless and bound, defeated. It should have been a day like many others that Will had passed in the past few decades, but it had gone all wrong. Even in that helpless state, Malcolm Reynolds had laughed at Will. _Laughed_ at him, right in front of Will's own team.

Disrespect was what it was. Disgusting.

He'd tried to set things straight when he'd had a chance, (He had to pause for a moment to relive the thrill, the rush of those few minutes he'd had alone with the captain on the bridge of the Firefly…) but the victory hadn't lasted. Will'd been taken down by the captain's lover only minutes later, and within a day Reynolds and his crew had walked away from the whole thing, free and clear, leaving Will with a humiliating defeat and a suddenly rebellious partner.

Today the insult grew. In a bar on Highgate, Malcolm Reynolds had looked Will in the eye without any hint of fear. Call it insanity, it still couldn't be allowed to go on. Reynolds' dogged rebellion couldn't be allowed to spread any further than it already had. The Companion had grown in strength, besting him for a second time, and the madness had come to full bloom in Will's own partner, like an infection taking hold.

"Ginger," he said, spitting out the name in disgust. "Pointed a gorramn gun at _me_!"

It was an outrage, that a Browncoat who should be without the worth of a dry spit had started this thing, had somehow managed to pose a threat to Will's power, weakening the things that should have been solid and sure. Malcolm Reynolds should be nothing better than the thousands of grimy, good-for-nothing smugglers who lived in the cracks of the Rim, the kind of people Will could crumble under the hard heels of his black boots any time he chose. But the captain was proving himself to be more than that: an Independent who hadn't given up when he should have, who lived like he was all middle finger, beaten but never bowed by the defeat he'd suffered. Reynolds was a rebel with his own store of strength and independence. He walked outside the rules with a flair to rival Will's, carrying an irreverent humor alongside a rough edge of violence. He'd managed to gather from the crumbs of the Rim a talented crew that was fiercely loyal to him, and found nothing less than a Companion to be his lover.

"Malcolm Reynolds," Will spat. He focused on the Black outside and gritted his teeth. The mission, the Prefect's orders, could go to hell. William Cantone couldn't allow such a man as Malcolm Reynolds to live, and that was that.

The discomfort in his belly turned to a much more welcome fire, and he had no problem waiting another ten minutes while every beatup two-penny freighter and transport and gun-runner and god-only-knew-what fled the slow approach of the Alliance warship. He marked the path of Reynolds' Firefly as it passed, waited just long enough to be sure he'd escape notice, and set a course to follow.

.*. .*. .*.

The sight of Kaylee's bright face held a power that worked like a balm, and Inara felt her worries fade behind a smile of her own as the mechanic delivered a full update on the doings of _Serenity_ and her crew.

Well, maybe not a _full_ update. The one thing Inara wanted most to hear about went unmentioned while Kaylee focused on particular events that had taken place in Simon's bunk, the dining room, in Kaylee's bunk, and then in a small but, according to Kaylee, quite charming pale pink room in a whorehouse on Highgate.

What's more, Kaylee clearly took Inara's occupation as permission to speak with absolutely no rein, something no one else on the ship (besides Jayne and, perhaps, River) would have offered. Inara could only smile at the thought, and feel some gratitude and perhaps even a bit of warm-hearted pride that she could provide the ready ear that Kaylee had obviously been craving.

"My good Lord above, Inara, you ought to see!" Kaylee went on. "I mean, you might'a made a guess, given how things are usually in proportion and he ain't the bulkiest fella in the `verse, but you never could'a imagined the amount o' pretty. There's something to be said for contours, too. I mean… you'd think that, bein' a doctor and all, he wouldn't be so… but his belly, the way it…"

Kaylee shifted slightly and lifted her hands in front of her. She was sitting on the floor of the nearly empty shuttle, leaning back against the dark bulkhead with her legs stretched out in front of her. The clenching of her hands and direction of her eyes made it clear that she was positioning her memory of the young doctor's torso just so, and Inara had to hold back a laugh as she imagined Mal's reaction if he were here to witness such a vivid retelling.

And that thought, of course, made Inara's smile fall.

Kaylee didn't notice. "A good-looking man for sure, I seen that right away. But I never would have imagined the way them muscles would pull at each other in such a pretty way when he really got to…"

Her voice trailed off, and Inara pulled her attention back to find the mechanic watching her closely.

"I'm sorry," Inara said. "You were saying? Muscles were flexing?"

Kaylee studied her for a few seconds, then dropped her hands. "No, I'm the one that's sorry, Inara. Here I am all talking about me and Simon, when you just found out about…"

Kaylee stopped when Inara looked away.

"I mean, you and him… you and the captain… just before you left… right?"

Inara nodded.

"And it was… okay?"

Inara couldn't be sure of her own response; the blood rushing in her ears and cheeks and just about everywhere else was all she could be aware of. But Kaylee clearly saw enough.

"Oh," the mechanic said simply.

After a spell of quiet that Inara was too flustered to measure, Kaylee added, "I'm sorry. I sure am sorry."

Inara knew that the girl had nothing she needed to be sorry for, as none of this was in any way her fault, but she didn't refuse the offered sympathy. Honestly, she needed it.

"Just tell me, Kaylee. Tell me what happened. And don't lie to me—I'm here now, on board. I'm a part of this, and I need to know what's really going on."

"Didn't nobody tell you nothin'?"

"Wash did, but he was holding back.." Inara leveled her eyes at Kaylee, who looked away again. "What wasn't he telling me?"

Kaylee shrugged. "Well, captain's lost his memories."

"Clearly," Inara said, more sharply than she'd intended. "But Wash didn't want to talk about it in any detail. It was almost like… almost like he blamed me."

Kaylee sat up as she protested. "Oh no! No, I'm sure that ain't it at all! I'm sure he just thought that if you knew you might _think_ it was your fault, but none of us really thinks that. Simon told us that it's just about brain chemistry and, and…"

Inara made sure that she had a properly deep frown. Kaylee got the message and stopped abruptly.

"Tell me, Kaylee."

"All right. Okay. So… it started right after you left."

"Right after?"

"Not more than a' hour." Kaylee's eyes flicked around the small, barren space of the shuttle, settling everywhere but on Inara. "And… and the first thing he did… the first thing he forgot, was you."

Inara raised her head, trying to fight back the sting of that. "I see."

"But that don't mean it was you. Simon said it—it was all about that crazy stuff on Oeneus. It was all about his brain dealin' with pain and… and bad feelings and the captain wasn't able to handle that so he had to just forget stuff, and don't no one on this ship really think it was about you."

"So… he forgot me? Completely? Within an hour?"

Kaylee looked completely miserable now. "But it wasn't your fault. I was there. I was here—Zoë brought him here to this shuttle, and then had me bring a capture of you so it might shake free his memory, and he saw you on the screen and I could tell that he wanted to remember, he wanted to real bad, but it hurt him, like he was broken and couldn't make the wheels in his brain turn smooth like they ought to—"

Inara dropped her head in her hands. She felt Kaylee move to sit next to her, the girl's hand on her shoulder.

"Don't be like that, Inara. It'll be fine. Captain's gonna get better now, and he'll remember you, and he'll be so happy that you're here with him and not away in the Core. I think it'll be good for him that you're here, cause I think he loves you, Inara. I think so."

Inara raised her head. Her cheeks were dry; she was overwhelmed, too much so for tears. "Don't say that."

"I think he does."

"He doesn't even know me."

"Course he does, in his heart. You got to hold on, Inara. Simon's doin' all he can, and that ain't nothing."

Inara smiled at her friend gratefully. "No, that's not nothing."

"So just keep hoping. We'll refuel tomorrow, and with you here to help I'm sure things'll look up. I mean, maybe now that he's seen you he'll start thinking…"

Inara shook her head. "Zoë's not going to let me near him."

Kaylee took Inara's hand and squeezed it sympathetically. "You got to understand—she don't hate you."

Inara raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

"It's been hard on her," Kaylee insisted. "Real hard. Cause it didn't happen in a day. It's been going on, so slow, and it's so hard to watch when you can't do a thing about it. I think it's `bout drove Zoë nuts herself, to have him like this."

Inara nodded. "Yes. I can see that it would."

"But don't fret, okay? We're all together now, and we'll find a way out of this. I know we can do it. We can make it right again."

Inara smiled, feeling a genuine glow of gratitude that this crew she'd happened upon by chance included a soul as positive and strong as Kaylee.

It was odd though, Inara didn't remember sensing such a backbone of strength in the mechanic before. It was a strange realization: they'd always had a friendship, almost from the moment Inara came on board, but Inara had always held the place of the more mature, worldly one. Now Kaylee was offering the strength and comfort. Inara's own position, the weakness she felt because of her situation with Mal, wasn't enough to explain the change. Something had shifted in the mechanic.

Inara fixed the girl with a keen look. "Kaylee, how are you, really? When I left, it was right after… right after what happened with Ray." Inara couldn't bring herself to say it, because it didn't seem possible. Kaylee had killed a man. Shot him right through the heart at a distance of no more than a meter.

Kaylee dropped her eyes. "Oh, that. Yeah, I guess that wasn't easy. Wasn't easy at all. But I got through it."

"You're sure?"

Kaylee smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm sure. I'm all right."

Inara returned the smile. "I'm glad to hear it."

Kaylee's smile broadened as she stood up and gave the near empty shuttle a look-over. "Now, that's plenty enough about me. You need to get settled in, and you're needin' a place to sleep. Ain't no furniture left in here, but I'm sure there's some fixings in storage that I can pull out, and I'll rig up something properly comfy." She turned toward the hatch, but paused when Inara called after her:

"Kaylee—thank you."

Kaylee smiled warmly, then went on her errand.

.*. .*. .*.

Translations

yīn bù pussy


	5. Chapter 5

**Back Stories Book III**

_

* * *

_

_The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money._

**

* * *

Chapter 5**

Report to Codename:irishson  
CLASSIFICATION: EYES ONLY  
Page 78 of 80

Conclusions (cont'd):

In sum, unrest in the local sphere of operations has increased by approximately 60% in the past two weeks, based on number and intensity of insurgent events. Local leadership is becoming more tractable, in particular Codename:gardenslug. Hence, Operation:flintandsteel has made significant progress toward Objective 1. Objective 2 is progressing as described in Section 5 of this report. Objective 3 is beyond the current state of affairs, but projected to come into play within the next six months.

Recommendations: 

The current course of action should be continued and, if possible, accelerated, for two to three weeks. Enough Tán Hé forces are present to maintain order for this time; however, reinforcements should be prepared for transportation as soon as requested by Codename:gardenslug.

The need for increased intensity and expanded operations requires that funding for Operation:flintandsteel should be adjusted upward accordingly.

.*. .*. .*.

Richard Westfield snickered sharply and slapped the neatly bound report shut. Of course the funding must increase. He had yet to read a report that didn't come to such a logical and absolutely necessary conclusion.

He rose from his desk, taking the document with him. Wood-faced cabinets so tall that he could barely reach their top shelves lined his office; those on the east wall held information from budding projects on Rim worlds. This particular venture would need to expand to its own cabinet soon. Tán Hé's operation on Oeneus took up the third and fourth shelfs already, and the amount of paperwork was likely to increase exponentially in the next few months.

Westfield placed Codename:deadbranch's report carefully into its proper place, then closed the surprisingly heavy door—solid steel lay under the tasteful wood vaneer—and spun the lock. This information was for no eyes but his own, and perhaps those few members of Parliament who took part in this particular project.

He returned to his desk and checked the cortex for new messages. Several were waiting, but not the one he was most interested in. What he really wanted to hear about were the fugitives on Highgate, the doctor and his sister. Lieutenant Brady should be sending news, any time now.

.*. .*. .*.

"Put this on, sir," a soldier said, taking a standard-issue gas mask off a clip on his belt. Despite the hot sun and the expectation that no combat would be involved in this mission, the young man was wearing full armor, including a helmet with a breathing mask to match the one he was holding out. Lieutenant Brady took the offered mask and held it with the tips of two fingers while he studied it doubtfully; the thing made the soldier look like some kind of exotic upright crustacean.

"Sir," the young man said, "if the targets were neutralized by an airborne toxin as reported, traces of the drug may remain in the air."

Brady sighed in resignation and slipped the mask on, almost shuddering at how it made the hot air of Highgate close in against the skin of his face.

"No one else has gone into the lab?" he asked as he waited for the soldier to fit the mask's straps for him. His voice, suddenly trapped, was loud in his ears, and sweat immediately began tickling the back of his neck.

"No, sir. We've secured the front rooms. A few patients were removed. Just locals. No one else is present as far as we've seen. But we did not enter the lab, as you ordered."

Brady nodded and took a few deep breaths, letting himself get used to the hiss of air passing through the mask's filters, before he turned to the open door of the clinic. The masks's limited field of vision made him step through clumsily, one arm held out in front of him, then he had to stand for a few seconds to let his eyes grow accustomed to the dark. With some squinting, he made out three soldiers standing in the shadows of the innocuously empty waiting room. They seemed quite comfortable and natural in their own armor and gas masks. He nodded to them and moved on to a short hall.

"You've checked these rooms?" he asked the soldier who was following just slightly behind him.

"Yes, sir. The only place we didn't enter was the lab." The young man motioned ahead; two more masked soldiers were at the end of the hall by a door, one crouched by the latch with power tools scattered about her.

"The panel's been destroyed, sir," the woman said. "Should I cut it?"

Brady nodded.

One zip of the metal saw severed the lock, making the heavy metal door start to swing open. Brady stepped forward quickly to pull it closed again, then waved the soldiers back. This task wasn't for them. He felt no gratitude toward Chancellor Westfield for putting him in the position of entering unknown territory on his own, but he had orders. No one else must talk to the fugitives.

On opening the door, he found a woman laying face down on the floor. He stepped around her and attempted to close the door behind him, but with the latch severed it wouldn't stay. A fire ax lay on the floor next to the woman; Brady propped the heavy head of it against the door.

The lab was dark but neat. Even with the cumbersome mask, it took only seconds for him to check the rest of the room. For another long minute, he checked again, even opening cabinets to ensure that there no one else was hiding.

He finally gave up and crouched next to the woman to check for a pulse. She was alive. She was small in stature, fitting the description of one of Westfield's targets, though the picture had shown her dark hair to be long. It was now cropped short. Brady wasn't surprised—of course a fugitive would try to disguise her appearance. The more pressing question on his mind was the whereabouts of her brother.

Brady returned to the hall. "No one else is in the building?" he demanded of the lead soldier.

"No sir. We've done a sweep of the area outside as well."

Brady chewed his lip inside the mask; this was not good news.

"Fine. There's an unconscious woman in the lab; move her out to the transport. Have the medic look at her, but she's to remain unconscious. You and your men will stay here. We're missing one of the targets." Brady handed the guard a photo. No name or explanation was on it, just a picture of a dark-haired young man.

"If you see this person, sedate him immediately. You have dart guns?"

"Yes, sir."

"Use them."

"Of course, sir."

Brady waited for a stretcher to arrive, then followed the unconscious woman out of the clinic and back to the transport. He had to admit that he was curious, tempted to let her wake up so he could talk to her himself and find out what had made her so very important to the likes of Chancellor Westfield. But Brady was far too sensible to give in to that temptation. It was better to leave her to the pair of officials that Westfield had sent and keep himself out of this mess, whatever it was.

.*. .*. .*.

Ginger Larkin emerged from her bunk after an absurdly long time spent in preparation. Part of the delay was her hangover, a slightly larger part was adjusting her appearance, but the lion's share was spent building up her inner steel. Everything had changed, and she had nothing but battles in front of her. It took all the courage she could muster to face it head on.

As she expected, Will was waiting. He sat at the pilot's seat, settled in like he'd been there for some time. Scraps of food wrappers littered the deck around him, and a not-quite-empty bottle tilted at an angle against the back of the piloting console, one good tap away from a disastrous spill over the circuits of the control board. To build up such a mess, he must have been parked there for several hours, but Ginger didn't mention it. She waited quietly while his red eyes took her in.

After a long moment, his face broke into a sloppy grin. "Silly Ginger," he said in a teasing tone. "Black is _my_ thing."

She raised a hand to her head self-consciously. An undercover Alliance agent couldn't walk about with candy cane red hair and a cheap whore's gown, so she'd planned her change in costume in advance, buying all she needed from the same lady who'd done her hair on Highgate. Black dye was the best choice for making sure the red was completely covered, and tight black pants hadn't seemed so unreasonable, given a longish black coat to cover the parts of her that she never had been comfortable showing off. And Ginger'd put the eye make-up on because… well, because it just seemed right. If she was going to be the kind of spy that seduced her target in a Rimworld bar, she might as well look the part.

It hadn't occurred to her until now that she was borrowing heavily from Will's look. Black, head to toe.

"Mission's on," Will said, skipping past further comment on her appearance. "But the timeline's moved up. We've got to get to Reynolds, as fast as possible. We can't risk letting him scuttle. We've got to be sure we've got him, no doubt, before we pounce."

She glanced toward the windows; nothing but Black could be seen. Will glanced over his shoulder, following her gaze.

"We're on their tail now," he explained, nodding into the void. "Staying a safe ways behind. They're making a line to the Midway station off the back side of Muir. Likely just for fuel, like most of the useless bastards who ran off from Highgate. The station's small, and it'll be packed full of escapees. We won't get a chance at him there."

"So we keep following?"

"That's the plan."

Ginger narrowed her eyes. "That's Marone's plan?"

"Of course."

"All right. When we get to the station, I'll go look about. I might be able to figure where they're planning to go from there." And if she was hoping to catch sight of that big, coarse merc again, Will didn't need to know.

"I'm not sure about that," Will said.

"About what?"

He fixed her with a dark look. "About whether I trust you to go _fraternizing_ with the enemy."

Ginger chewed her tongue. It had always been her way to be cautious, but where had that gotten her? It was time—way past time—for candor. She folded down a small bench on the back bulkhead of the cockpit and sat down on it. Fixing her legs solidly on the deck and folding her arms, she leveled her eyes at Will. She liked that; she liked the idea of "leveling" her gaze, like it was a weapon as keen as those she was more familiar with.

"Let's be plain, Will. I don't like you, and you don't like me."

He didn't have to nod agreement, just stared at her and waited to hear the rest.

"But the situation ain't changed. We're partners, and we're under orders to get this Reynolds fellow. I'd be happy to have it done. You?"

He shrugged indifferently at first, but then gave in with a nod. "Yes. Yes, I'd like to be _done_ with Reynolds." The way he stressed that one word was an invitation, but she didn't take him up. She didn't want to know about his personal plans.

"All right, then. I got us an in."

Will leveled his own stare at her. "The mercenary?"

She nodded.

His eyes narrowed. "And again: I don't trust you."

His power over her was so weak that she actually smiled at that. "I ain't trusted you in some time. Welcome to the party."

He considered a bit, then suddenly smiled back at her. "I do believe I like you better now than I used to. Even though—I suppose a shag isn't an option anymore?"

Her smile disappeared. "Will, if you bring that thing anywhere near me, I will tear it off."

His grin only widened. "We have an understanding then?"

"We do."

.*. .*. .*.

Zoë folded her hands around a small plastic cup, hoping the warmth of her grip would make the bitter space station brew—it couldn't be real tea—more palatable, then raised her eyes to the doctor.

"All right, Simon. Where do we go from here?"

Simon blew out an unsure breath and didn't answer immediately. Zoë slid her eyes to the side to check the room, reassuring herself that no one in the midway station's darkest saloon would overhear her words. No one besides the brooding mercenary sitting with his back half turned on the young doctor, that is.

"Mal ain't forgettin' more, right?"

Simon shook his head. "No, thank goodness. He wore the cap again last night and woke up unchanged this morning."

"Any chance he'll start getting better?"

"It's possible. It's as if… it's like he's been walking on a broken leg for weeks, and I finally got him a cast and crutches. He'll stop getting worse for sure. He might start healing, as long as he's not too damaged or… too far out of alignment, I guess you could say. But it'll take time."

"How long?"

Simon shook his head, unable to manage even a shrug. "Medicine isn't an exact science."

Zoë frowned, and they sat and pondered until Jayne broke the silence.

"Does make you wonder though."

Simon gave the mercenary a questioning look. "Makes who wonder what?"

"Why the Alliance sent that guy after Mal."

Zoë and Simon shared a frown, then focused on Jayne for more explanation.

"I mean, can't have been easy to track us down. I sure as hell wasn't expecting it." Zoë read something like guilt in how Jayne's eyes fell and he turned his face away. "More n' that," he went on, "they went through Inara, took the risk a' making trouble with the whole gorramned Guild. All that work to track Mal down out here. They must want him bad. But what I can't figure is why the idgets didn't just take him back on Niflheim."

Zoë sat up straighter, shocked at the thought. Shocked that hadn't come to her before. She'd been so burdened in the past day that this issue hadn't even occurred to her. "Lord help me for being schooled by Jayne Cobb," she said, "but the man has a point." She looked to Simon. "Will is working for the Alliance—fine. But why didn't they take Mal when they had the ship in custody on Niflheim? Wasn't hardly a month ago, and they let us walk."

"Didn't he give a fake name?" Simon asked.

The answer came from a new source. "He did, but they knew who he was." Inara slid into the booth next to Simon and handed a small leather purse over to Zoë. Zoë took it, felt the satisfyingly heavy coins inside, and tucked it into her vest.

"They knew?" Simon asked.

Inara settled her elbows on the table and leaned toward Simon. "Mal gave that ào dà shă guā Lieutenant Brady on the _Argent_ a fake name, but when they were holding me, trying to convince me to be their star witness, they told me they knew Mal's name and history. They even said he was wanted for 'terrorist activities' on Oeneus, but they seemed to know that those charges were groundless."

"You believe that?" Zoë asked.

"I do. If they'd thought him guilty, they would have pressed the fact that he'd disappeared from a cell on Oeneus."

"They didn't?"

"No. I called their charges ridiculous and they didn't disagree. Instead, they threatened to search _Serenity_. They knew Mal was a smuggler, and clearly thought they'd find plenty to charge all of us with. Of course, I couldn't allow a search of the ship because of…" She stopped, not wanting to put another burden on Simon's shoulders. Still, she couldn't help glancing at the doctor.

He understood. "Thank you," he said softly.

Inara smiled at him softly. "It was my pleasure, Simon."

"So you cut a deal with them," Zoë said. "And that deal made everyone on _Serenity_ free and clear."

"The agreement won us amnesty for our doings over those few days on Niflheim. They were adamant about that, believe me. Those OPR people—"

"O. P. What?" Jayne asked.

"Office of Professional Responsibility," Inara explained. "It's one of the Alliance's internal police. They make sure that corporate contractors behave ethically, as much as that's possible in such a large organization."

Jayne shrugged and looked away again, suddenly more interested in the doorway to the bar than what Inara had to say.

"And so those OPR people…?" Zoë prompted.

"They were quite clear that we had amnesty for the days we were Niflheim, but not for any time before. Technically, if Mal had been wanted for some prior infraction, they could have taken him after they had the testimony they wanted from me."

"But they didn't," Simon finished.

Inara shook her head. "Maybe something new came up since? Or something that took time to put together?"

Simon gave Zoë something of a nervous glance, then sat back in his chair as if he wanted some distance from her before he spoke. "Something to do with the war?" he asked cautiously.

Zoë immediately shook her head. "No. They got no beef with Mal from that, he served his time."

Simon put his elbows back on the table. "Then it has to be Oeneus. All of this started there. It can't be a coincidence."

"But… how?" Inara asked.

Zoë leaned over the table herself. "Let's look at what we know: They thought Mal was part of some uprising on the up-and-coming world of Oeneus, smuggling guns to rebels, so they took him and questioned him. Only that kě pà de questioning process didn't work on him like it had on others."

"Because of River," Simon went on. "Mal got out of that dream state before they completely broke his mind, because River somehow… contacted him or whatever you want to call it. Then Jayne walked in and took him out of the cell."

Hearing his name, Jayne looked back at them and nodded emphatically, as if he hoped to convince them that he'd been following the conversation all along.

Zoë studied the merc. "Jayne, you were there when Mal first took the job on New Melbourne. You recall anything strange?"

"`Sides all the fish?"

"Besides all the fish."

Jayne shrugged and looked toward the saloon's doorway again.

"The answer's there somewhere," Simon said. "Somewhere on New Melbourne, or on Oeneus."

Zoë studied the doctor. "You think we ought to go back?"

"If nothing else, I can check with people who were questioned like Mal was. If this condition of his did start with that interrogation, maybe I can get more information. Maybe I can learn enough to really help him. And perhaps some of them have seen doctors of their own, and have—"

"I'm so chí dùn!" Inara interrupted, and she pressed a hand against her forehead. This got Jayne's attention; the merc turned to her with his face screwed up in confusion.

"We all are," Inara went on. "It's Ricky Lu! Mal took the job carrying the seafood meals from Ricky Lu, who got caught by the same people who took Mal. Ricky went through the same questioning process, and then—"

"—we left him workin' with the Prefect," Zoë finished, then she shook her head bitterly. "Gorramned Prefect. He looked to be good man, helping us get Mal out like he did. I could'a sworn he was on our side."

Inara nodded. "I did too, until I saw him working with Will and Ginger, helping the Alliance track Mal down. I still don't understand, but the best way to find out what he's really up to is to go through Ricky Lu."

"Won't be safe," Zoë said. "Marone'll be expectin' us to try to back track for answers. Might be looking for us to stop in and see Ricky."

"It's not like we have other options."

Zoë saw the truth in Inara's words, but didn't like the feeling that the woman was trying to direct the ship's actions. Inara should have one role in all this, and one only. To remind her of it, Zoë patted the coin purse in her pocket. "At least cash flow ain't a problem," she said pointedly.

Inara lifted her chin to nod at Zoë's pocket. "Is that enough?"

"For now," Zoë replied dismissively. "Jayne, you hearin' all this?"

"Back to New Melbourne," the mercenary said without turning back to the table.

"And I'll need you along when we get there, to walk me through what happened the first time."

Jayne nodded. "Sure thing," he said in an off-handed way, then he suddenly stood up. "Gotta hit the john," he said. "Might do a little personal shoppin' too, if there's time."

The others rose as well. "Filling the tanks will take a good hour," Zoë told Jayne. "Be back before then."

"Sure thing," he said again, and he wandered off toward the back of the bar.

.*. .*. .*.

"Zoë's in charge," Kaylee told Malcolm, replying to his question without looking at him. Their positions, leaning back against the lower half of dining room's pale yellow bulkhead, made it awkward to meet eyes. "She's in charge, but she ain't really the captain."

"Why's that?"

"We got a captain. He just ain't here right now."

Malcolm lifted a Tall Card and spun it through the fingers of one hand. "Where's he at?"

"Busy."

He snorted. "Some captain."

Kaylee flitted her hand out to slap the side of his leg. "Easy there, don't be talking dirt! The captain's the best. Even when he's… not. I can't wait till we get him back. Not that I don't like you just fine. In some ways, you're nicer, but…" She stopped herself, realizing that this line of talk could make no sense to him. "Anyway, Zoë ain't used to having everything to do. I think it grates on her some, but she's doing a fine job. I expect cap'n'll be real proud a' her when he gets back."

Malcolm shrugged; the ship's politics apparently weren't of interest to him, because his mind seemed to have gone off someplace else. He turned the card in his hand sideways, balancing it between two fingers and squinting as he took aim.

"So, you got a thing goin' with the doctor?" he asked.

"That I do."

"Ain't he…"

"What?"

"Well… never mind."

He made his throw, sending the Tall Card cutting through the air toward a stewpot he'd set in the middle of the room. It hit the inside wall of the pot with a sharp _ting_. Kaylee watched his face closely, but his attention was fixed on his throw and his expression told her nothing.

"Go on," she urged. "Say what you're thinkin'."

He picked another card off the deck in his left hand. "I was just just thinking that he's a bit… I mean, you seem like a nice regular type of girl, and he's…"

Kaylee tipped her head back against the dining room bulkhead, not liking what meaning she could glean from his words. She might have to reconsider the issue of the young Malcolm's _niceness_. Seems he could be just as bad with making small talk as the grown up Mal.

"I'm a _regular_ type of girl, then?"

"Yeah, you know."

She couldn't help pushing him. "No, I think I don't."

Malcolm took another shot, but this time the card spun out of control, sliding under the table and almost reaching the galley island on the far side of the room. "I mean… I just mean you're a regular gal. Ain't into being all fancy."

Kaylee narrowed her eyes and pursed her mouth, biting back both a smile as well as a few sharp words. _Oh, you just better be glad that you're sick Malcolm Reynolds, or I'd be havin' to lay into you for bein' cheeky… _

"So you think Simon's puttin' on airs?" she asked.

Malcolm tipped his head and huffed in a way that said: _ain't it obvious?_

Kaylee was more than ready to come to Simon's defense. "Sure, he's from the Core. He can't help it any more than you and I can help where we're from. It don't mean he ain't a good man inside. He might put on clean clothes, don't mean he's out to fool anyone by it."

An unexpected voice floated out from the galley. "Unlike _some_ people."

Kaylee and Malcolm both leaned sideways to look around the table, and found a pair of brown eyes peeking around the galley island. The forehead belonging to the eyes rested in a pool of brown hair on the floor.

"Some people work hard to deceive," River went on, sliding out a bit so they could see her whole face. "And not just with pretty clothes. Some people act sweet and nice so they grab a man by his heart, then they run away and leave ruin behind."

Kaylee could guess where River was going, so she cut the girl off, scolding as gently as she could. "River, you seem to have some odd ideas in your head lately. You might wanna try straightenin' em out before you go and say something you might be be sorry for later."

"I'm not sorry!"

Kaylee let her words get a bit sharper, hoping they'd carry the message that River wasn't seeming to want to hear. "But you ought'a take care that you won't be sorry later, is all I'm sayin'."

Malcolm's head swiveled as he looked from one to the other of them. "What are y'all talking about?"

Kaylee pressed her lips together while she watched River stretch across the floor on her side, now out of the galley enough that her whole upper body could be seen. Her face screwed up; she seemed to be gathering her thoughts to say something fierce, but Kaylee spoke up first.

"I'm talking about how _someone_ who's all worried about how _somebody_ hurt _somebody else_'s feelings should be more careful that she don't do hurting of her own. That would get to be like the ole pot and kettle, don't you think?"

River huffed and turned onto her elbows, but her face softened as she folded her hands together and stared down at her thumbs. "There's logic in that," she said quietly. She raised her eyes to Malcolm. "I'm not a mean person."

He shrugged. "If you say so."

"I'm really very nice," River went on. "You should get to know me."

"Well, I'll make sure I spend some time with you. Soon as I get a chance."

The confused irony in Malcolm's voice was obvious to Kaylee, but the teenaged mind-reader appeared to miss it entirely. She gradually broke into a smile, aiming it entirely at Malcolm, before she pushed herself up to her feet.

"Good," she said. "That's very good." She continued smiling to herself as she slipped out the aft hatch, her steps light and easy.

Malcolm resumed his game of throwing cards at the stew pot. "So… what's with her?" he asked.

"Can't ever tell," Kaylee replied, "except to say… don't judge too quick. I like her. No matter that she gets a bit odd, and has some weird ideas, I like her a lot."

He looked at Kaylee sidelong. "There anyone you don't like?"

She lifted her eyes to the ceiling, squinting as she thought about it. As first she felt a pleasant warmth as nothing came to mind, but then she had to frown and drop her eyes.

"Actually, there's a few, but only them as worked hard to earn it."

"How's that?"

"They hurt folks I care about. Hurt `em bad." She went on before Malcolm could ask for details—she didn't want to explain that the one of the people who'd gotten hurt the worst was him. "But River ain't one of the bad ones. She's got a heart of pure gold, even if it gets confused at times. Ain't something to hold against her, when it happens. She can't help it." Kaylee smiled at her own good memories of River, of the times they'd played together and the talks they'd had, saying anything, like they were sisters who'd grown up together.

Kaylee was so lost in her thoughts that it surprised her when Malcolm twisted his head toward her and smiled in his own warm way. "I like you," he said bluntly. "As my Ma would say, you're good people."

Kaylee felt her spine stiffen and she replied quickly: "I'm with Simon. You know. _With_ Simon."

Malcolm's smile broadened. "Wasn't suggesting that should change."

She relaxed again, letting herself lean back against the pale yellow bulkhead. "Well, in that case, I like you too."

They sat back and let that settle for a minute, and there was no sound but the distant murmur of fuel flowing into the tanks below them, punctuated by the plunks of cards landing in or near the pot. After a minute, Kaylee reached a hand toward Malcolm.

"Let me try."

He handed over the scant remains of the Tall Card deck, then got up to gather the scattered cards.

.*. .*. .*.

Wash kept a hand on the fuel line connected to the ship just above his shoulder, leaning on it in a thoughtful pose. "I just worry about her," he finally said. "She's not one to be so tense." He qualified his statement quickly, holding up a hand to cut off Book's response. "A lot of people don't know that about my wife. A lot of people think she's all… shieldmaiden, battlewoman, Amazon tough. Okay, she is, but she's not really, not when you get to know her."

Book smiled reassuringly. "You don't need to convince me of that."

"But here's the thing: she's not herself now. She's not the relaxed, warm, squishy, cuddly Zoë I know. And so I have to wonder: what happened?"

Book glanced toward the pilot briefly to confirm that this question wasn't rhetorical. Indeed it wasn't; Wash's eyes took on an earnest, almost pleading expression.

"On that moon. Was it really… was it that awful, about Mal?"

Book found himself at a loss. It wasn't his place to pass on a confession if the confessor didn't choose to do so herself, even if, as in this case, there were no sins involved. Zoë's tale of her past held no wrong-doings on her part, not as far as Book could judge. What the woman did carry was a set of scars, and if she chose to hold those close, secret from her own husband, that was her choice. But Book didn't like to see a splinter cutting between two people who had no reason to be divided. He wanted to sooth what he could.

"Well," he began hesitantly, "I think it's a bit more complicated than that—"

"How we doin' here?"

The ill-timed interruption came from behind Book as Zoë strode around the leg of the ship.

"We'll need a bit longer," Wash replied, his earlier vulnerability hidden in a neutral pilot-business-voice. He gave the fuel line a firm pat. "Just got her hooked up, and we were running nearly dry."

"All right. Book, can you finish?" Book nodded and Zoë went on with hardly a pause, addressing Wash. "I'm not liking the swarm of ships `round this place. I'm thinking they just about all came along with us from Highgate."

"Well, it is the obvious pit stop," Wash said. "If one was in a hurry to get out of there. Which everyone was."

"And which would make it easy for us to get followed. I'm thinking we need something creative to make sure we're good and clear when we move on."

"Got it," Wash said with a serious nod, and he started off toward the ramp. "I've got ideas. No one will follow us out of here if we just—"

Zoë held up a finger, putting Wash on pause, and looked to Book. "Soon as you finish up and Jayne gets back, let me know."

"Jayne gets back?" Book asked.

"On errands," Zoë explained. "Shopping."

"Shopping?" Wash asked. "Oh right. I bet he's out of reading material. I heard the new 'Manly Merc' magazine has an article: 'How to ID a Bad Guy When the Person You're Supposed to be Guarding is Having a Beer with Him.'"

Zoë fixed her husband with a flat look.

"What?" Wash asked, looking from her to Book. "Not funny?"

Zoë sighed, and not even a bit of smile showed. "Very funny. Long as you can guarantee we'll get away from this station with none of them bad guys behind us."

"That's why I'm here, dear," Wash said. He shot Book an _I-told-you-so_ frown before he followed his wife onto the ship.

.*. .*. .*.

Jayne had known the woman right away. His eyes had found her while he was still listening in on Zoë, Simon, and Inara's planning. Listening in, but clearly not welcome to speak up. He had to admit, it burned him. He figured that Inara'd come closer to directly betraying the captain than he ever had, yet here she was, welcome in the planning.

So Jayne'd turned aside and let his bitter eyes roam while the others talked, and then he saw her. Her hair color had changed to a hard black and the clothes were different than they'd been on Highgate, somber and dark now, showing her female form in a much more subtle way than the whore's gown she'd worn in the Thirsty Tongue Saloon. But there was no mistaking her face.

The others were busy with their talk, so Jayne kept this little issue to himself. He knew that he'd get to the root of it eventually, and he did, as soon as the others went on their way.

Ginny saw him coming, but didn't try to run. She held her spot, standing against a wall near the door of the bar. He walked right up and stood towering over her, arms folded, and scowled his doubts down on her. Her eyes, rimmed in black but not nearly so painted as the first time he'd met her, scowled right back up at him.

"Fancy seein' you here, Jayne," she said darkly, like she was accusing him of something.

He frowned deeper. "Hmm, yeah. `Cept maybe it ain't."

"What d'you mean by that?"

"You ain't a whore, are you Ginny? That even your name?"

"Oh come on, Jayne. You know how it is out here: a body takes any job it can get."

"You was on a job then?" he asked, though he had to kick himself for not seeing it before. Of course a woman who handled a gun like Ginny could be no simple whore.

"I was playin' cover for a partner, one I don't care for much. Didn't matter though, the job went south when the Alliance showed."

"And you just happened to come here?"

She met his eye. "Yeah, and so did you. You following me, Jayne?"

"What? No! You're following me!"

She snorted. "Hardly."

"But—"

She reached up to jab a hard finger into his chest. "You were just sitting over there with the same woman made the ruckus in the Thirsty Tongue on Highgate. I figure I better find the reason why. You and yours brought any of that trouble along that I ought'a know about?"

Jayne reared back and tucked a thumb into his belt. "We ain't brought any trouble except the kind you're looking at."

She eyed him up and down, then gave a little nod, as if she wasn't about to argue over that point. Jayne found her reaction pleasing.

Still, she didn't give in. She tilted her head and squinted up at him. "I don't think I ought to trust you."

"I know I don't trust you," he replied. "You're up to no good, I'll wager my month's pay on it." Of course, his month's pay didn't amount to much, but she didn't need to know that. "I just bet you're one of them shady, no-good types," he accused.

"Whereas you're a regular missionary," she said with some scorn.

He shrugged. "Sure, I like missionary. Can get dull though."

She eyed him a long minute, then asked: "You want a drink?"

Jayne wasn't about to refuse that. He knew how things stood on _Serenity_ now. After Highgate, Zoë wouldn't be trusting him, not an inch. And surely she'd talked to Wash about the situation so the pilot would be mad at him too. And Mal was as crazy as River, and Kaylee was busy with Simon, and the Shepherd was a different kind of busy looking after the captain, and Inara was all caught up with trying to win back her spot on a sinking ship.

It didn't leave Jayne much to go on. He couldn't expect kind words from the crew of _Serenity_ anytime soon, but here was a chance to have a few minutes to himself, with his own kind of company. He wasn't going to pass it by.

"You work with a crew, huh?" Ginny asked once they got stools and something to sip on.

He nodded. "You?"

She shook her head at first, then rolled her eyes and gave half a nod, passing on a message of; _good lord do I, and I don't want to talk about it. _

"Don't like `em?" he asked

She scowled in response. "You?"

He shook his head. "Think I used to. Ain't that a wán xiào? I think I used to, but didn't know it. Not `till now, when it don't matter."

"What's different about now?"

He didn't answer, only rolled his plastic cup between his palms. This place wasn't classy at all, but he liked that. It felt honest. He liked an honest place, where what you saw was what you got and no one tried to play it different.

"So… what would you do?" he asked, leaving her question unanswered. "If you could have your own time, your own place, beholden to nobody?"

Ginny's plain face took on a deeply thoughtful look as she sipped her drink. She gave him a few sideways glances, like wondering if she ought to trust him with such information, then sighed.

"I got it all planned," she said, real quiet like she was admitting something shameful. "This job I'm on is it. I'll have enough to get my own place after. Nowhere fancy, but something that's mine. Someplace… you know, someplace I can do for myself. Hunt for my meals, not be bothered by neighbors telling me what to do. Maybe a town not too far off so I can stock up when I want, but not so as I have to see anybody if I don't want to. It'd be my place, all mine."

"Sounds nice," Jayne said.

"But I got to see things out with my crew first." She wasn't looking at him, but he could see enough to tell that her eyes were sad. "Bide some time until I can get free. I don't feel good about it, but it has to be done. I don't see no other way."

Jayne knew how she felt. He wasn't looking forward to going back himself. He looked over his shoulder at the time display in the station's corridor outside the bar, then fixed his eyes on Ginny again. Without the whore's outfit and the thick make-up to gussy her up, she wasn't at all a pretty woman. Still, she had a toughness, and there was a certain kind of honesty about her plainness that he couldn't help but like. She didn't look to be trying to sell him anything. She just was what she was.

"Your crew's fuelin' up now?" he asked. "Then heading out?"

"Yeah."

"So you got time to kill?"

She finally met his eye, but didn't nod. She didn't need to—her eyes said it all.

A coin passed to the bartender got them directions to the storeroom and a guarantee of some time left alone. Jayne didn't waste time, but lifted Ginny onto a pile of boxes and pressed her down, leaning over her to do his thing while she did hers beneath him. It was quick and hard, a powerful release even after he'd had plenty of the same during his work on Highgate. Guess he hadn't had enough. Maybe he just never could get enough.

After, he stayed where he was for a minute, held up on his elbows. Ginny's hands clenched around as much of his biceps as she could hold, squeezing hard at first, then weakening as she caugth her breath again.

They didn't talk while they fastened up clothes, and Jayne was prepared to go his way. The Lord knew, he'd done plenty of this kind of thing in his life as a mercenary, and no good would come of dwelling on it. Still, something had him stopping with his hand on the door, turning halfway back, and asking:

"Your crew got a plan?"

Her reply was quick. "Not one I know of." She looked thoughtful, then added, "We're hoping for new work, since the last job bombed out."

"Well… well, you happen to be in the neighborhood of New Melbourne, town of Sydney, stop in. Round `bout the fish markets. They're always looking for cargo haulers there." He lifted his eyes to her. "My crew's got business on that world, the next few days. Wouldn't be half bad to see you again."

She didn't reply aloud, only nodded.

.*. .*. .*.

Translations

kě pà de: awful

ào dà shă guā: arrogant jerk

chí dùn: slow-witted; stupid

wán xiào: joke


	6. Chapter 6

**Back Stories Book I****II**

* * *

_The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money._

_You may have noticed that I'm returning to territory and plot from The Fish Job. I will try to rehash  
a bit since it's been a damned long time, but I don't want to bog things down. Maybe I'll put notes at the end  
of these chapters about the FJ chapters I refer to, so if you want a refresher you know where to go. It might help!_

_Also, I apologize for not being responsive to feedback. It's very busy times!  
I'm burning my free time just keeping up with the posting. Hopefully that'll change soon._

_Cheers!  
_

* * *

**Chapter 6**

Simon's voice rambled up through his chest to pass directly into Kaylee's ear. "So," he asked in a trying-to-be-casual voice that was just a note too high to fool her, "what exactly… are we?"

Kaylee didn't open her eyes, but smiled. No way would she be answering this kind of question seriously. "I'd a' thought that'd be obvious," she replied cryptically.

She felt Simon's effort at response build in his lungs only to be caught, held, then blown out in thoughtful silence. After a few more of these aborted attempts to speak, Kaylee decided to have a look at him, see what the holdup was. Her half-awake gaze wandered lazily over the floor of his cabin (which had tended to be rather cluttered lately, a side effect of her regular presence) before settling on his face.

His eyes were fixed on the ceiling as if the light fixture could fill him in on this "obvious" thing he'd missed. Kaylee saved the ceiling some trouble by explaining it herself.

"Me: woman. You: man. Plumbing's all different."

Simon's furrowed brow smoothed into a smile. "Yes, I have managed to figure out that much."

"Can't hide such a thing from a trained doctor."

"My education: worth every credit."

"Every thousand bazillion credits, more like."

He ran a hand up her bare back. "But that's not what I was asking."

Kaylee set her chin against his shoulder and tilted her head to study him.

Simon went on. "I meant, what are we? _We_. You and me."

She laid her cheek against his chest again and stretched, savoring the long contact of skin on skin, stomachs and hips and ribs and muscles of leg, all sliding and rippling against each other, before she answered in something near a purr, "Hot sex firebomb is what."

She could hear an answering smile in Simon's voice. "And that bomb has… certainly blown." He paused, then sighed. "But I can see that I'm not being clear."

"Do you hafta?"

"Do I have to what?"

She rolled onto her side, reluctantly putting some distance between them, and propped up on an elbow so she could look him in the eye. "Be clear? Do you hafta?"

He opened his mouth, then his brow furrowed right up again and he slapped his lips closed. The sight distracted Kaylee for a moment, but then, with an effort, she called her attention back to the conversation. The man obviously had things on his mind, and she liked him enough to keep her attention on whatever had him so worried, even if all she could manage was something of a lecture.

"Simon, do you really got to be so defined and all? With every single thing you do? Ain't like life fits into neat little boxes all the time."

He took in a deep breath, and Kaylee waited while the air slowly leaked out. She did her best to allow him time, but it went on so long that she ran out of patience.

"Ye gods, you think a lot!" she muttered with a playful slap to his ribs.

"Kaylee, you have to understand. The women I've known always had certain—" he paused, searching for the right word, "expectations."

"Such as?"

"Such as… gods, I don't know." He wiped a hand over his face. "It's always been so obvious, but with you it's just not. Nothing is."

She made a dismissive _pshaw_ sound. "Some smart doctor."

He smiled. "Being a smart doctor doesn't mean I'm smart about everything." Then he looked away, as if he felt the truth in his own words more than he wanted to. That got to her, and she fastened herself up close to him. Again she savored the feeling of a warm, naked body next to hers, all solid and strong, but soft and tender and human too.

"I got an idea," she said. "How about, instead of explainin' in _words_…" Her shoulder rolled forward over his chest as she reached down under the blanket.

Simon sucked in a sharp breath, then he grinned in just the sort of way Kaylee liked best: shiny white teeth and mussed hair hanging over his forehead. "I'll explain that way all you want," he said. "But maybe not right now."

"I worn you out, huh?"

It was clear that it took some effort, but he managed to focus on her. "Nowhere close. Well, the male anatomy does, from time to time, require pacing… but if there's anything I can do for you…"

Kaylee bit her lip at the invitation. What a gentleman Simon was.

.*. .*. .*.

"Not again!" River murmured with a groan. She squirmed in her chair and shot a dark look over her shoulder toward the dorm rooms. Warm sensations had begun to emanate from Simon's bunk: heady waves, fuzzy and soft like a velvet blanket the golden-brown color of Kaylee's hair. It threatened to pull River completely out of her senses.

"Really is becoming inconvenient," she added, a pointed accusation. Indeed, this thing between her brother and Kaylee was a burden. Simon needed his privacy and River needed her sanity, so she had to keep her distance. She shuddered her shoulders, hoping the small movement would free her from the sticky web Simon and Kaylee were casting, then rose and jogged up the stairs behind the infirmary.

On the first step down into the dining room, she froze, her eyes fixed on the galley. Tendrils of Kaylee's pleasure followed after her, licking at her back as she watched the man in the galley. Though he was halfway across the large room, she felt stuck to him, pinned like a captured butterfly, pierced by dully pleasant sensations that affixed her body to his thick arms and solid chest, to the way his weight shifted smoothly as he turned and replaced the kettle on the stove, to the turn of his wrist as he stirred tea leaves in his large mug.

Malcolm caught sight of her as he rounded the galley island. "You want?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied earnestly, looking past the pointedly raised mug to feast on the blue of his eyes. "Yes. I do want."

She allowed him to misunderstand, to fetch another mug and fill it with steaming water and tea leaves. It allowed her more time to stare, to ride the waves of Kaylee's slow rise, imagining it as something created by herself and the captain, just the two of them, alone. Imagining touching him, kissing him, feeling his hair and his skin and….

"Here ya are," Malcolm said. He didn't bring the cup to her in the hatchway, but set it on the end of the table. River saw his true purpose clearly: he meant to draw her in, force her to sit down with him and chat. He took the seat next to her mug and waited.

"It's not fair," River whispered breathlessly to herself. "Not fair."

After her encounter with Malcolm and Kaylee yesterday, after Kaylee's rebuke, River had made a promise to herself: she wasn't going to play games with sick Malcolm, nor was she going to hate Inara. She was going to be good. Nice. She'd spent all last night recalling every kind thing Inara had said to her, the times the Companion had called her "sweetie" and treated her like a beloved little sister, or even a daughter. River was set on recapturing the warmth she'd once felt for the Companion. She wasn't going to let this thing she felt for Malcolm destroy a friendship.

But it was so _hard_. It was so hard to be good when the webs of Kaylee and Simon's activities continued to thicken around her, making Malcolm's proximity something close to agony. It didn't feel good to want like this. It didn't feel good at all.

"And people say love is grand," River muttered as she finally stumbled toward the table and sat down.

Malcolm leaned toward her and stuck out one ear, as if to hear better. "What was that?"

The sight of his bared neck, the skin silky smooth from a morning shave, made River set her knuckles against her cheeks and press the ends of her thumbs against her canines, as if some inner vampire was in danger of breaking free and damaging him.

"People are stupid," she mumbled through her thumbs.

Malcolm made some reply, but she didn't hear it. She forced her eyes away from him. To remove herself from the whirlpool that was sucking her down, she focused all her attention on the captain's mind—not his body, no more thinking about his body!—and tried to see herself through his eyes. Maybe the pathetic sight of her, a useless, out-of-control, nonsensical teenager, would serve as a much needed bucket of icy water.

Oddly, all she saw in Malcolm was honest concern, a kind attempt to befriend a somewhat strange but not disagreeable girl. For all that she could sense, he genuinely hoped to put her at her ease and see what lay beyond her peculiarity. River saw the hand of Kaylee; the mechanic had said nice things about her, nice enough to set Malcolm on the path toward building a friendship. If only Kaylee had known of the agony this would lead to!

"Not fair…" River repeated in a whisper, her words lost behind whatever chatter Malcolm had continued while she sat and fought her inner demons.

To her relief, her moment in the crucible was interrupted by voices approaching from the fore corridor. "There's time to grab a snack," Wash claimed. "We won't hit New Melbourne's scanners for at least half an hour."

Zoë's reply was dark with caution. "They'll know us,"

Wash came down the stairs, then half turned back to address to his wife. "Can't help it. If we disconnect the pulse beacon, we won't be allowed to use the public docks."

"Let's just hope we ain't there long enough for anyone to ID…" Zoë cut herself off when she saw Malcolm at the table. "I mean, for anyone to… to…"

"… to interrupt our very _legal_ business of shipping healthy and delicious fish products to those who need them," Wash finished with a bright, plastic smile. The pilot glanced at Malcolm, then back at Zoë to give her a hopeful thumbs up.

River rolled her eyes—they weren't fooling anyone, certainly not Malcolm. He broke into a knowing smile and clued the couple in on his own clued-in state. "Gotta say, Wash, that was some fine flyin' you did gettin' away from that fueling platform. Ain't no way anybody followed. Who is it you all are runnin' from anyhow?"

"We are not, uh, running," Wash replied lamely. This drew a snort from Malcolm, as well as from Jayne, who came stomping down the corridor behind Wash and Zoë.

"Right," the mercenary said as he passed the Washburns. "Ain't no one in the 'verse ever after the likes of us. 'Specially not the law."

"Jayne!" Zoë snapped.

Malcolm's smile only broadened. "Oh come on," he said. "The way you lit out of there, that path you took, following that big cluster of ships, then round that moon and through them asteroids—Nice flyin, by the way." He said this last to Wash, who accepted the compliment with surprise followed by a falsely modest shrug.

"Didn't know you were paying attention," Zoë told Malcolm.

"And I didn't know we was makin' such a fuss," Jayne said, his focus fixed on Zoë with an intensity that drew River's eye. "Y'all really so worried `bout a tail?" River felt a trickle of something she couldn't quite define stirring under Jayne's words, a kind of dull ache tinged with bitterness. Dark olive green and sour. She studied him, trying to make it out.

"Seems pretty clear she _is_ worried," Malcolm told Jayne, "if'n she went to all that trouble to get away untracked." He looked toward Zoë. "Ain't real bright, is he?"

Jayne's face pinched up in anger, but not before the trickle of bitter became a big enough wave for River to identify it: guilt. Jayne was feeling guilty. Worried and guilty in a cloudy and unclear way. He didn't even know he felt it, which only added to his anger. "What'd you do?" River asked in Jayne's general direction, but her voice was small and nobody heard.

"Least I'm bright enough to know my own proper name and age!" Jayne snapped.

"Jayne!" Zoë admonished. "You pay him no mind, Malcolm."

"Too late for that," Malcolm said. "I ain't a fool. Who are you people really? Spies? Rebels? Or just plain ol' smugglers?"

"There's nothing wrong with being a plain old smuggler," River stated, but again nobody paid attention to her.

Zoë sat down at the table with a sigh. "We do business," she explained to Malcolm. "All kinds of business."

"Smuggling?" Malcolm asked.

"Sure."

"Stealing?"

Zoë shrugged. "Been known to happen."

"Killing?"

Zoë's eyes hardened. "Not by choice."

"Well," Jayne said as he filled his own mug. "Except for that one guy in the engine, and the time—"

Zoë's glare cut him off.

Malcolm studied them all thoughtfully. "Hunh," he grunted, then he leaned back in his chair and sipped his tea.

This mild reaction drew a curious stare from Wash. "Wait," he said, "you're not worried about traveling with ruffians like us? Weren't you the small-town wholesome rancher type? I mean… _are_. _Aren't _you the small-town wholesome rancher type?"

This drew a thoughtful frown from Mal. "I don't know, I guess being with criminal types ought to bug me. But it just…" He looked around the dining room, then shrugged and clucked his tongue. "I don't know. It just don't feel like it's wrong. It feels natural somehow, bein' here."

River felt a wave of cautious hope spread around the room as all eyes fixed on Malcolm. He didn't seem to notice, but calmly sipped his tea.

"Feels natural?" Zoë asked.

"Yeah." He set his mug on the table, then stared down into it as he swirled the liquid inside. "Didn't think I'd take to traveling so easy, but this ship almost feels more home than home. Does this morning anyhow."

The casual way he spoke seemed to flummox everyone in the room. River watched them glance about, almost as if they were daring each other—or asking permission, if the look was toward Zoë—to question him more directly. River could think of a few things she'd like to know. She fixed her eyes on the man who slouched over his mug, still completely ignorant of the way he was being studied. He'd made tea for himself; had he searched the galley for what he needed, or might he have reached for the right cabinets automatically? Could his memories be coming back without him even knowing it?

A buzzer from the cockpit interrupted the thick silence.

"Thought we had a half hour to go," Zoë said to her husband.

Wash jumped up from the table. "Apparently not. I better check to see if there's any reaction to us showing up." He disappeared toward the bridge.

Zoë stood to follow. "Jayne," she ordered. "Get the doc. I want him along in the market, case we find this Ricky character. I'll meet you two down in the cargo bay, soon as we're landed."

Jayne headed belowdecks with an obvious lack of enthusiasm, and just like that, River found herself again alone with the captain.

She sucked her breath in and kept her eyes fixed on the far bulkhead. Simon and Kaylee had finished their business and her mind was her own, the needy voice of her body silenced by all the distractions of the conversation. She wanted to keep it that way. But she couldn't quite talk herself into leaving; the torture of being near Malcolm was preferable to the pain of separation.

She sighed. Her situation was _so_ romantic.

"What's your role in all this then?" Malcolm asked.

"I have no role," she replied simply.

Malcolm went on; apparently he'd been storing up a few questions of his own. "And what's the Companion got to do with things hereabouts?"

Despite her good intentions, River felt herself tense. "Why do you care?"

He turned away quickly. "I don't care. Just curious. I just…" He paused thoughtfully, then turned back and leaned toward River with the air of a man taking a plunge. "All right, this might sound crazy, but I had this dream last night. I think. I don't really quite recall. But I woke up thinking… I feel like there's something important, something I ought to know. About her." He laughed uncomfortably, his eyes on his hands so he didn't see River's dark glare. "I got no idea why. Maybe it's just having that odd cap on my head. That dream though, it must've been…. Āi yā, I wish I could remember!"

"I know about dreams," River said softly. "I have lots of them. I've shared dreams too. Shared them with… with the captain."

"The captain?"

"Yes."

"Kaylee talked about him. Likes him a lot, I guess. So where is he, this wonderful captain of yours?"

River had to chew her tongue a second before she could answer. "He's coming back," she finally said.

Malcolm only smiled. "That don't answer my question."

"He's on his way back. I know it. I can feel it."

Malcolm looked away with a shake of his head and a soft laugh. "You sure are a strange bunch. A _very_ strange bunch." After a thoughtful moment he turned back and smiled at River. He looked right at her and smiled as if she was the root of a happiness deep enough to bring warmth to his soul. "But I like gettin' to know you. There's something good here. There's something that makes me feel like…"

"Like what?" she asked eagerly, and she leaned in closer to him.

"Like I done right. Like I…."

He stopped talking, his attention pulled aside, and River saw why. Inara had appeared in the aft hatch to stand, staring at Malcolm, looking uncharacteristically unsure of herself. River shifted her glance from one to the other, feeling suddenly forgotten. She really did intend to be good, but the interruption was so poorly timed, and so very unwelcome, that she couldn't help finally settling her gaze on Inara and announcing: "Not supposed to be out and about."

Inara's eyes stayed on Mal as she explained. "It was just so quiet in the shuttle, and I have nothing to occupy myself. Not even a book or a quill. And I wanted to find out—"

"I'm going to tell Zoë," River interrupted. Mal grimaced at her, his opinion of a tattle-tale showing plainly, but she didn't back down. "I am! And then maybe she'll lock the shuttle's hatch so you can't come out and do harm!"

Inara stepped down into the dining room with a hand against her chest, the perfect picture of virtue wrongly accused. River would have hated the woman for it, if she hadn't sensed that the pose wasn't consciously taken.

"River, have I done something to offend you?"

Malcolm's warm smile was gone, replaced by a disapproving frown. "Yeah," he told River, "you're steppin' over the edge toward harsh with that."

River held her hands up to her head. It was too much. She couldn't decide what she was supposed to feel, because everything she did feel was wrong. She didn't want to be here, pulled in too many directions to follow, nor did she want to leave, not when she could sense the draw between Malcolm and Inara. She could feel the way their eyes kept finding the line connecting them like an invisible tether through space. Questions were piling up in their minds, a sense of eagerness to explore the mystery binding them, free of distractions.

The present conversation might seem to be about River, but neither Malcolm nor Inara were focused on her at all. Both of them were thinking of nothing but each other. She might as well not be here.

"I give up," River whispered, and with slumped shoulders she left the room.

.*. .*. .*.

Jayne stood aside while Zoë turned in the center of the aisle, her stance betraying her impatience as she looked over the fish stalls. It was evening local time and the crowd was as thick as it'd been when Jayne visited the market with the captain months ago.

"Are you _sure_ this is the place?" Simon asked.

Jayne had an urge to give the doctor a sharp smack to the back of the head. "Yeah, I'm sure," he replied tensely. "That's the spot, but it ain't the same."

Zoë stopped and studied the stall Jayne pointed to. "What's different?" she asked.

"Used to have Ricky Lu's name on it. 'Ricky Lu's Delight of the Sea' it said. And it was a different color. All yellow and white."

The booth was now blue, the lettering in bright green. LĪNG HǍI XIĀN the banner spelled out. The worker behind the counter could have been the same as the one Mal'd introduced himself to months ago, but that much detail Jayne didn't recall.

"Enough of this," Jayne said decidedly. He stepped up to the counter and reached across to grab the worker by his green and blue jumpsuit. "Where's Ricky Lu?"

"Who?" the worker asked, his formerly pleasant expression replaced by a grimace of fear. "Who do you want?"

Zoë stepped up beside Jayne. "Ricky Lu used to run this stall," she said. "Where is he?"

"Don't know!"

"How about Kamath?" she asked. "You ever hear of a man by that name?"

"No! No! I sell fish only!"

Simon reached out one hand as if to pry Jayne's grip on the worker's shirt loose. "Maybe you've got the wrong place," he suggested.

Jayne glared at the doctor. "It ain't the wrong stall, I told you! Look." He pushed the worker back and lifted the gate in the counter and strode right through. The worker cowered back and Zoë and Simon followed.

The back rooms were exactly as Jayne recalled: a kitchen area, not too neat and not too clean, then a business office with a scarred wooden table. The room was currently empty, but a back door stood slightly ajar. Jayne looked through; the hall outside was empty. He turned back to Zoë with folded arms.

"This is the place we did the deal," he said. "Ricky was sittin' right at the end of the table here."

"You're sure?" Simon asked from behind Zoë.

"Yes, he's sure," Zoë replied.

Jayne nodded to himself, pleased that Zoë trusted his instincts.

Zoë went back out to the kitchen, where two workers were watching the goings on. "How long have you been here?" she demanded.

The bewildered men shrugged.

"A different group rented this stall a few months ago. Where did they go?"

"Don't know!" one man replied. "Stall was empty, we rent. That is all!"

Zoë swore. "You got any idea how we can reach the folks who used to be here?"

The men shook their heads.

"Should I make `em talk?" Jayne asked with a hint of eagerness.

Zoë shook her head. "No. We got us a dead end here. Come on."

.*. .*. .*.

Wash was the only one who knew River's secret, the only one who could understand her pain and provide the comfort she needed. She slid into the dark bridge; the small space looked grim and dull in the gray light of the rainy day outside, but the pilot's presence eased the drear.

He was humming to himself. River recognized the song, a child's ditty about cookies, sung by a monster who craves them. She quietly stepped up to the co-pilot's chair, then in a soft voice picked up the words to the repetitive chorus. Wash started when he noticed her there, but kept on his humming to accompany her.

He hummed out of tune.

"Wish we had cookies," she said into the quiet that followed.

Wash sighed. "I'd take a plateful of the chocolate crinkles my dad used to make for the holidays," he agreed.

"I know where there's a chocolate store on Oeneus," River said. "They have turtles."

"Turtles?"

"Caramel and nuts with chocolate. Prefect Marone bought me chocolate. Simon carried the bag, because I was a doll and he was my servant." She closed her eyes and sighed. "So much hadn't happened then. Life was easier. I didn't even know."

Wash gave her a long look. "Hard day?"

She kept her eyes closed. "He's talking to Inara. Right now."

River felt Wash's alarm. She could almost see him in her mind's eye, looking over his shoulder, considering taking action. In her mind she urged him, hoped he would go and put an end to whatever connection the severed lovers were forming. But after a short time she heard a sigh and a creak of the pilot's chair as Wash settled back in it.

"I guess it's pretty much unavoidable," he said.

"Zoë'll be mad."

"Zoë's mad about a lot of things. She'll get over it. And really, I'm not so convinced that this is a bad thing. Inara might actually be good for Mal. She understands what's happened; she'll be careful."

River opened her eyes and watched the rain fall on the window, followed the little streams of water that joined and broke apart as they ran down the glass. She didn't want to consider what Wash was suggesting. It felt like it was the worst thing that could happen.

The captain better: good.

The captain better because of Inara: bad. Very bad.

"I don't like being in love," she said. She felt Wash watching her closely. "Confusing. Hurts. He was talking to me, but as soon as she came in, he was talking to her. It was like I wasn't there. It was like I didn't exist."

_I knew this would happen_, Wash didn't say, but River heard the words anyway.

"Maybe," she replied. "But what could I do? Can't just turn it off. Can't just make myself not feel."

"You more than most," Wash said softly. She glanced at him; his eyes were sad. River understood. This hurt her more than it would a normal person. She was strange that way.

She curled up on herself, around the horrible ache in her chest. "This is why he broke," she said. "His mind broke itself so he wouldn't have to feel hurt like this. Wish I could break too, so I wouldn't have to think about them, together." She lowered her voice, half hoping Wash wouldn't hear her. "Him, happy, without me."

Wash rose from his chair and came to crouch beside her. River didn't have to look; she felt his offered hand next to her, and without lifting her head she reached her own hand out to grasp it.

"She doesn't deserve him," she said softly.

"Maybe," Wash said, "but that's not how it works."

"What if she makes him worse?"

Wash just squeezed her hand.

.*. .*. .*.

Zoë's eyes were down as she walked out of the stall, her mind busy calculating what to do next. The absence of Ricky Lu did not bode well. Just a few months ago, Zoë'd left the man with Prefect Marone, working to fight the Alliance's overbearing presence on the planet Oeneus. Now, according to Inara, the Prefect was working _with_ the Alliance. So where was Ricky, and why the act from Marone? Why had he helped them all back then, when he so easily could have done differently?

"It makes no sense," Zoë mumbled to herself. "Not a damned bit a' sense."

Neither did the hard hand on her back, the sudden push that knocked her to the ground. She rolled to her side, gun quickly in hand, to find her pusher was her hired mercenary and he was dragging Simon down beside her. She didn't have to ask why; the glass of the stall next to them exploded in that particular way glass does when hit with a sonic rifle pulse.

"Where?" Zoë demanded.

"Up ahead to the left!" Jayne replied. He had his gun out—not one of his bigger ones, rather a handgun that concealed well and held many shots. He sent a few flying above the heads of the crowd. "Can't get a clean line!" he yelled.

"Then they ain't got one on us." Zoë grabbed the back of the doctor's shirt and hauled him to his feet, making sure he stayed in a low crouch. She heard Jayne laying cover fire behind her as she pushed Simon back the way they'd come, both of them stumbling as they went looking for a safe exit.

.*. .*. .*.

Translations  
Āi yā: Damn!  
LĪNG HǍI XIĀN: Sunshine Seafood


	7. Chapter 7

**Back Stories Book I****I****I**

_

* * *

The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money._

_I have been horribly, horribly remiss about something: I have forgotten to thank my Book III beta readers.  
__Especially with this chapter, which was not at all easy to put together. Fireflyfans dot net members __**  
desertgirl**__ and __**nosadseven**__ have been meticulous and extremely helpful. Kudos ladies! __**  
Leiasky**__ was also super helpful with earlier chapters; her blooming career as a screenwriter has  
kept her busy of late so she missed out on the joy of digging through this monster. :)_

_And it is a monster. Hence two days behind my intended posting day – I had so much fixing to do.  
I'm still not satisfied. This is just a hard one to get right. Hopefully, it's close enough. _

_(Sorry about the added …'s desertgirl. I'm weak LOL!) _

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 7**

Simon looked over his shoulder, trying to make out a pair of dark gray uniformed figures about thirty meters down the aisle, but the fish market had erupted in chaos and his view was blocked.

"Who are they?" he shouted at Zoë.

"If they shoot us, I'll be sure and ask," she replied bluntly. "Now get down!" She shoved Simon flat to the floor as another burst of sonic pulses flew along the market aisle, taking out a pair of shoppers who hadn't had the sense to disappear when the ruckus started.

"Back in there!" Jayne hollered, pointing at the stall that used to belong to Ricky Lu. Zoë nodded in response and Simon set off in a low crouch.

.*. .*. .*.

Inara waited until River left the dining room, then took a seat in the alcove, choosing a chair that didn't directly face the long table. She was inescapably aware of how she was being stared at: as if Mal was studying for some kind of exam and her face held all the answers.

No, she reminded herself, this was _Malcolm_, not Mal. This wasn't the man she'd known just weeks ago, not the pest who annoyed her with ease, but still managed to shock her with a kind word or heroic action when she least expected it. And certainly this wasn't the man who'd comforted her in a dark moment, and shared the soft, silken bed of her well-furnished shuttle…

Malcolm cleared his throat roughly. "She ain't so bad, huh?" he said. "River, I mean. I think she might be all right, if a little rough `round the edges. That's what I hear, anyway. That she's okay."

Inara smiled at his rambling; this certainly wasn't the Mal she knew. "River is indeed… well, maybe 'okay' isn't the proper word, but there's certainly not an evil bone in her body. Although, I'm afraid that since I last saw her she's taken something of a dislike to me."

Malcolm snorted. "She ain't the only one." Evidently, conversing at a distance didn't satisfy him. With a casual saunter he left the table, bringing his mug with him to lean against the corner between the galley and the alcove. Inara found herself facing him full on. Heat flooded her cheeks and she had to fight a strong urge to look away.

Stubbornly, she lifted her chin and met his eye. "What do you mean?"

"Folks around here don't exactly cotton to you. I don't suppose you got any idea as to why?" He tilted his head and his eyes traveled over her, but not in the slow, sexually assessing way she was accustomed to from young men. This was no simple appreciation of her "feminine wiles", but an effort to see past her veneer to some truth hidden beneath. Inara sighed; it appeared that this kind of appraisal—keen, penetrating, unapologetic—was one thing she should expect of Malcolm Reynolds, even in his younger state.

"I have no idea," she said weakly.

"Don't you?" He settled into the large chair across the alcove's entrance from her. "I get the impression you two got a history, you and River. She seems to know things about you."

"As in?"

"As in…" He shifted uncomfortably and stared down at his mug. "As in, she knows what you are, what you do. I'd a' never guessed it myself, given what I seen of you hereabouts."

Inara sighed again. River had indeed taken a dislike to her, if the girl had informed Malcolm of the one thing most likely to earn his censure. "Ah yes—my profession. Often a source of contention with certain members of this crew."

The real Mal was too deeply buried in this young man to pick up on the jab, and he simply ignored it. "You know, I ain't ever met a Companion before. I heard things about `em, but I never thought…"

She smiled. "You never thought you'd meet one? Live and in person?"

He nodded, but was unable to look her in the eye. Inara couldn't help but tease him for his bashfulness. "And are you feeling overcome by the great event?" she asked, but she quickly saw that she'd misread him. He glanced at her once, quickly, before responding, and what she saw in his eyes was nothing like awe. It was more like the disapproval she was used to seeing in the face of _Serenity_'s captain.

Young Malcolm, however, was too much a gentleman to put voice to his full opinion. "Well," he said awkwardly, "_overcome_ ain't the right word. You're very pretty and all, ain't no denying that. But I guess I just…"

When he stopped there, Inara folded her arms. "Go on. I rarely have a chance to meet someone who's completely new to the ways of the Guild. I really would like to know what you think."

He studied a rough fingernail. "I think that, um, I think that it really don't signify much what I think."

"Come now, don't be shy," she urged. "Tell me your impression of Companions in general, and of me in particular if you wish. I'm all curiousity." She realized her tone had taken on a slight edge, so she made herself relax and smile again. "Don't worry, I'm very much aware of who I am, and I'm at peace with my path in life. Nothing you say can offend me."

His jaw worked into an odd angle as he gave her a long look. She held her smile, refusing to show that he had any power to perturb her.

Finally, he shrugged.

"All right."

.*. .*. .*.

Simon pulled up abruptly when a hand grabbed his elbow. In the past minute he'd hurried through Ricky Lu's ex-kitchen, out the office's back door, down a flight of stairs to a shadowed delivery bay, around a few cargo trucks, then up a ramp leading up to the street outside. He'd been about to rush into the fading daylight when Zoë pulled him to a hard stop.

He'd learned enough about life as a wanted criminal, and about Zoë's ability to read a situation, to take a look around before he asked any obvious questions. He quickly saw the problem: a half dozen uniformed men and women were rushing along the far side of the street, hurrying toward wide glass doors: the market's main entrance. Simon's eyes caught on another duo just emerging;their uniforms matched those of the soldiers on the street. The group came together as if the meeting had been artfully choreographed.

"Sonics," Zoë whispered. Simon studied the weapons in their hands more carefully, and realized that she was right. The two men who'd come out of the building had to be the ones who'd carried out the ambush in the marketplace.

Onlookers had begun to gather, but one of the uniformed men stepped out of the huddle to yell,

"Tán Hé business! Stay clear of the market! Tán Hé business! Market will reopen in one hour!" Passersby huddled into each other and stared for a few moments before obeying, and the street gradually cleared.

"Pì huà!" Zoë swore, and she pulled the ship's comm out of her pocket. While she explained the situation to Wash, Simon watched the group across the street. The gray uniforms confabbed in the gathering dusk, one of the two who'd come out of the market motioning to the building behind them, as if describing the action that had just taken place inside.

Simon nearly jumped out of his skin at an unexpected voice right by his ear. "No one's comin' behind," Jayne reported, a little breathless.

"Where have you been?" Simon demanded in a hissing whisper.

"Doing my job, buyin' us time," Jayne replied. "I blocked up that hall good. No one'll be wadin' through _that_ anytime soon." His face lit up; if his grin was anything to go by, the blockage involved the worst available refuse a fish market could offer.

"That's good," Zoë replied as she tucked the comm into her vest. She fixed her eyes on the meeting taking place on the street outside. Just then, one of the gray uniforms stepped away from the group to look down the street and make a hand signal. Zoë stuck her head out of the shadows just long enough to see who'd received it, then glanced the other way before pulling back.

"More of `em in each direction," she said. "They got this spot surrounded."

"That ain't good," Jayne replied. "Make a break?"

Zoë nodded. "'Less you boys wanna sit here till they find us."

Jayne backed down the ramp to keep quiet while he reloaded his pistol, looking at ease and all business. Simon, on the other hand, felt his control slipping. "But, if they're everywhere, we have no chance! We can't just run past them!"

Zoë checked her own carbine. "Hush, Simon. They're on foot and all they got is sonics—likely ain't nothing but local peacekeepers. We ought'a be able to scare `em into backing off long enough so we can disappear. Let's just wait till this group clears."

Simon bit back his protests and managed to stay quiet until the conference broke up. Four of the uniforms headed back into the market and four split into pairs, each duo headed a different direction along the street. Zoë's eyes flicked from group to group as she spoke low.

"I'll go first. Simon, you stay between me and Jayne. We'll head to the right. There's a corner not thirty meters down. Make the turn and see what we see. And if we get—"

She was interrupted by a revving motor behind her. A light blue boxy groundcar roared up the ramp, stopping under an orange ceiling light that illuminated the illustration on its high, flat side. A smiling fish was painted on the wagon, somehow standing on its tail to give a big wink and a bigger thumb's up. The words _Aunt Nellie's Fresh Catch_ were printed in an arc over the cartoon.

The passenger door of the wagon opened, revealing a tiny driver's box already more than half filled by Jayne Cobb's large body. "Get in!" the merc ordered.

.*. .*. .*.

A ringing chirp pulled Kaylee out of a heavy doze. She wasn't surprised to find herself alone in the small dorm room; she vaguely recalled Jayne's loud knock and Simon's clumsy leave-taking. She had hoped for a long stretch of quiet for enjoying the sleep of the well-satisfied, but duty appeared to be calling.

At the third chirp she slid out of the warm sheets and stumbled across Simon's bunk to the comm. It was Wash, and what he told her made her senses return quickly.

"That means we're in the fire?" she asked.

_Might be soon._ The pilot's voice was cheerful despite his message, and Kaylee's budding worries for Simon subsided.

"We know what exactly the fryin' pan was?"

_Something about a ruckus in the fish market. Locals with sonics._

Kaylee shrugged to herself. Zoë'd faced much worse. "So you want me in the engine room?"

_Awake and ready, at least._

"Shia."

After a minute to gather her clothes and dress, she stopped by the dormitory head to splash her face. When she came out, she saw Book and River descending the stairs.

"Ahh, Kaylee!" Book called out. "We're going to busy ourselves with checkers. Care to join us?"

"Can't. Got to be ready to help with the getaway if need calls."

She could see why Book was eager for her company; River appeared to be in a mood. The exact nature of the mood Kaylee couldn't guess. The girl's eyes were big and wet, but as soon as she reached the deck she turned to glare back up the stairs, her jaw tight with something like rebellion.

"Keep children busy with games," she mumbled darkly. "Keep us out of the way."

"What's wrong, honey?" Kaylee asked, reaching out a comforting hand. River shook her head and moved away,. Dramatically, she fell into a big, soft chair in the common area. Book gave Kaylee a helpless shrug, then went to a cabinet to find his "River distraction" of the day. Kaylee wished him luck, then went on her way up the stairs.

She headed for the galley, hoping to find a strong cup of tea. A familiar voice caught her ear just at the end of the hall; it held a mix of concern and eagerness that made her pull up short before she could step into the dining room and interrupt.

"You sure are quite a lady," Malcolm was saying. "Ain't a question about that."

.*. .*. .*.

Simon's mouth fell open, but before he could say a word he was pushed through the door of the fishwagon, then shoved up against Jayne as Zoë climbed in behind him.

"They're lookin' for three," Jayne said. Zoë reacted to that remark before Simon could work out its meaning and the effect it would be having on his physical comfort in the near future, and he suddenly found himself pushed to the vehicle's gritty, damp floor.

"Why do _I_ have to be down here?" he demanded.

"Cause those of us with guns need the view," Zoë replied gruffly. She was struggling to get herself below the level of the windows in the small amount of seat Jayne didn't take up, while still holding her carbine ready. The elbow of her free arm repeatedly drove into Simon's ribs as she rolled down the passenger window.

Simon also felt something heavy and blunt dig into his calf: Jayne's heel. "Stay clear of them pedals. I need to drive!" the merc ordered. A hint of glee laced the man's voice as he kicked at Simon a few more times than was necessary. "We'll surely be caught, if you make us wreck!"

Simon grunted as he tried to comply, but with Zoë doubled over above him, still caught up in her own efforts at positioning, he didn't have much success.

"Just go, Jayne!" Zoë ordered. "We'll draw eyes, sittin' here like this!"

"All right, but you be ready with the cover fire, soon as I say."

"Ow!" Simon couldn't help but exclaim as the dark, grimy box he was packed into shifted suddenly. In a matter of seconds he was thrown against the seat, driven into Jayne's working feet, then flung the opposite way so suddenly that he cracked his head into the lower half of the passenger door.

Simon wasn't one to get motion sickness in a ground vehicle, but the ensuing ride put him to the test. He tried to shout a few questions as to how it was going, but the rough roar of the motor and Zoë's occasional orders drowned him out. Not that she was effective either; Jayne only reply was to tell them both to shut it.

"But are they following?" Zoë demanded.

"I'll tell you if they're followin'. Now, gorramnit, let me drive!"

Simon eventually managed to get himself wedged in somewhat securely, and even to keep out of the way of Jayne's shifting feet, but he couldn't make his stomach stop moving inside him. The thought of losing his lunch in this already smelly, dank space was a horrifying enough idea to guarantee that it was about to happen. Thankfully, Zoë spoke up before it came to pass.

"Jayne, relax. If no one's behind us now, we got to be clear."

Simon sighed gratefully as the ride smoothed out. The calm gave him a minute to consider more important things: Zoë had never opened fire. "They didn't identify us?" he asked.

Zoë took the risk of sitting up, giving Simon room to shift to a position where he could see more than the wet stains on the floor. He caught the grin that lit the merc's face. "Guess I look like a regular fish man," Jayne said. He gave a wink and a thumb's up, a reasonable facsimile of the side of the wagon.

"You didn't make that face at the people with guns, I hope," Simon muttered. He took in a breath of the relatively clean air coming in the open window with some relief, but was becoming aware of moisture soaking through the back of his shirt, his left sleeve, and now the seat of his pants. "Can I get up?"

"Best you stay put," Zoë said. "Ain't room anyhow. Jayne, you got any idea where the docks are?"

Jayne replied with a pointed finger.

"Good. Dump this jalopy a few blocks away. We'll hoof it to the ship."

.*. .*. .*.

"I don't mean to suggest anything different," Malcolm went on, "but I guess I just don't _get_ why you do what you do."

Kaylee peeked into the dining room to find Malcolm sitting in the alcove. He'd have been looking right at her if he hadn't had his head down, his eyes on the floor. She could see just enough of his face to make out a redness creeping into his cheeks as he spoke.

"It don't make sense, spending all your time with one fellow after another. No matter that it might make for a fat bank account, it don't seem right."

A muted velvet voice answered him. The words were impossible for Kaylee to understand, but the shoulder of a rust red shirt and a bit of curly black hair showing around the near corner of the alcove made the identity of the speaker clear. Kaylee's eyes widened as she realized the conversation she'd stumbled across, and she silently backed into the shadows of the hatchway.

"No, I guess it ain't a thing I know about," Malcolm admitted. "It's not something I seen 'round home. Except, sometimes I go into the city to do business, and there's these ladies… But they're nothing like you."

Kaylee crossed her feet and silently lowered herself to the deck, settling comfortably onto her back side, and leaned forward in hopes of hearing better. But all she made out was a question in Inara's tone. It made Malcolm smile.

"Well, they talk loud and… smell funny. It makes me sneeze when a crowd of `em walks by." He laughed in a way Kaylee thought cute: the slightly embarrassed guffaw of a young man talking to a beautiful woman. "Yeah," he went on, "perfume I guess. There's just so much of it."

Another question.

"Hell no! I mean… pardon my language. No. Some of the hands, but not me. A few of those ladies were pretty enough, I guess, but I don't like how they talk, and how they look at the men that pass by. I can tell they don't think much of them as do business with 'em."

Inara's reply made Mal pause thoughtfully to stare into his mug.

"But it don't matter if I like them or not. They'll do what they do in any case."

Inara's comment was short and firm.

"Nah. Those ladies, and you too, can earn your fair keep however you like. I don't mean to suggest different."

A sharp statement was followed by a pause, then a question. Malcolm's reply was edged with discomfort.

"It ain't so much about approvin'. I don't know, I just can't help thinkin' that a lady like you… Look, I know I got no right to keep sayin' this, but I guess: No. I don't think it's the proper thing for you to be doing."

Inara's reply came with a wry laugh.

"That ain't what I mean. Not even a preacher can make such a judgment. I mean, hell—oh, pardon me again. You'd think I was raised in a barn, huh?" His laugh floated across the room again, though this time it sounded forced. "I mean that you ought'a… a woman like you ought'a have better for yourself."

A quick question.

"No, it's not. Woman like you shouldn't have men thinking they own you. Takin' their pleasure out'a you like you're naught but some useful tool, like a wagon or the mule that pulls it. Something they can barter for, keep as long as they please, then trade away again when they're done."

Inara made no reply, since Malcolm clearly intended to say more. He stared toward the back of the alcove for a long moment, his mind busy gathering words, before he went on.

"Look," he finally ventured, "I ain't much for poetry, but I don't know how else to say it. You ought'a have a man giving reverence to you. Not with his money or his fancy ways, but with his own _self_. Not `cause you're beautiful and you got a special title, but `cause he knows you, inside and out, all that's real and true to you alone, and you fit him like no one else could."

A short silence was followed by a soft question that made him smile self-consciously.

"No. Not really. I had girls I got close to, but it wasn't love. I know that now, knew it then, too. Because I know what it'll be like someday, when I get it right. I'll find a woman to take care of me the same way I take care of her, and I'll give myself to her. Everything I got. My heart, my trust, my respect." His cheeks reddened; he was entering an embarrassing topic that wasn't easy for him, but he carried with faltering words. "My body, too. Not as some kind'a… some kind'a plaything, made to order. It'll be _me_. I won't need special training to tell me how to, how to, you know…"

Inara filled in the words and he nodded.

"Exactly what I mean. I won't need training, because the giving and the taking will go right with one another. Won't be able to separate the two. Can't touch without being touched, can't please without being pleased. If the woman I love comes to me looking for… for _that_, I won't be holding any part of myself separate." He shook his head, now lost in his own ideas. "Won't be able to. Cause the _doing_, knowing I can, knowing that I'm what she needs…" He blew out a heavy breath and shook his head. "Gorramn if that won't be just the thing to make the earth shake and tremble."

"Oh… gee," Kaylee whispered to herself.

When Malcolm looked at Inara again, his eyes widened with a kind of surprise, as if he hadn't quite seen her before. Whatever he recognized made his temper flare and and his words gain more than a little force.

"And, I tell you, I don't ever want a woman playin' at doing any of that for _me_ just `cause I paid her, nor because she expects to take anything from me that ain't the exact equal of what she gave. Trading caring for money? That'd be taking a beautiful thing and squeezing all the good right out of it. That'd be a damned shame, and I want nothing to do with it."

He sat frozen when he finished, his eyes fixed on Inara, his jaw stubbornly set and hands gripping his forgotten mug tightly. Kaylee shifted silently across the hatchway, hoping to get close enough to hear Inara's reply. She couldn't imagine how even a highly trained Companion could handle this bristling man who was, after all, not entirely sane. Who exactly should Inara reply to? Kaylee wasn't sure who was staring his challenge across the alcove: the boy from Shadow, or _Serenity_'s captain.

When Inara's reply came, her voice was gentle and soft. All Kaylee could make out was a question that ended with the word 'romantic'.

Malcolm finally dropped his eyes. "I guess I am," he replied. He sat thoughtfully for a moment, then a toothy, boyish grin spread across his face. He let out a small laugh and relaxed into his seat, his tension gone as suddenly as it'd come.

Kaylee blew out a breath that she hadn't realized she was holding. She had no doubt as to who he was now, and though it was hardly proper to be relieved that he wasn't in his right mind, she was glad to see his intensity let up. She'd almost forgotten the depth of full-grown Captain Reynolds's bad moods.

She especially hated to see him direct anything less than amiable at Inara. The Companion appeared to have weathered his storm gracefully, but Kaylee meant to make sure later. The first chance she got, she'd have her own palaver with Inara. She'd admit to her eavesdropping so she could hear the woman's side of this conversation, as well as her reaction to it.

Kaylee gathered her legs under her and started to slink quietly down the corridor, but then more words reached her ears.

"You think I deceive… you would find it insulting…"

Kaylee immediately settled back down onto the deck. It seemed that Inara wasn't doing the wise thing and calling it quits. The woman was having a say of her own, her voice now strong enough for Kaylee to catch a few illuminating bits and pieces.

"…_not about you. It's _my_ career…"_

"Good point," Kaylee whispered to herself.

"…are no false promises… clients have needs, I fulfill them… It's enjoyable… quite fulfilling." Inara's monologue ended with a clear statement: "It's that simple."

Malcolm wasn't at all convinced. He immediately replied, "May seem simple, but it ain't."

Inara asked a question. Kaylee knew it was the request for clarification that she herself wanted, because Malcolm leaned forward and settled into a detailed explanation. He seemed fully back to his earnest and innocent young non-self, except that he'd completely lost his shyness.

"You see, it's like this: you got all these men, and they—pardon?" His face showed surprise at what Inara interrupted to explain. "Really? Oh." He set down his long-forgotten mug so he could scratch his jaw thoughtfully before continuing. "Well, as I was sayin', you got all these… people—hunh? Okay, _clients_. You got all these clients takin' from you. And I don't mean just taking your body. From what I hear of Companions and how they work, these folks take your, your gǎn qíng, you know? Your _caring_. And they think it's enough to give you money for it and send you on your way."

He gave Inara a keen look and his words, though kind, were delivered in a grave tone. "You got tons of caring in you, Inara Serra. I see it, when you talk to Kaylee and the Shepherd, how you deal with River being so rude to you. Even the way you stand up to Zoë without ever getting mean. You've got a lot of caring in you.

"But ain't no person a bottomless well. Ain't no one got so much that they can give and give without a fair return. Those clients will take from you, they'll take all that loving and never put any back. They'll take all the meaning out of what you do, till it don't mean a thing." His words came slower as his gaze settled on his empty hands. "They'll take what you give until they leave you dried up and empty, till you got nothing left, and you ain't but a hard shell. I'd hate to see that happen to you, Miss Serra. I'd hate to see you come to that."

He paused and glanced up, as if expecting a reply, but Inara had nothing to say.

"If there's one thing I know," he went on, "it's that no matter how much you got to show, no matter how much coin and fancy stuff, no matter how you can make folks marvel at what you seem to be, there's no real worth in playing pretend." He shook his head slowly, and seemed to be speaking to himself. "That ain't a way to live life: alone in the world, beyond all reach. Hollowed out. Empty. Barren."

Dead silence filled the galley as Malcolm sat, lost in his thoughts, until some small motion by Inara made him lift his eyes. His brows drew together in concern.

"Are… are you okay? You gone all pale."

Kaylee saw Inara's hair move, her head shaking in denial.

"I can get you some tea." Malcolm half stood up. "You want tea?"

Inara must have refused because he settled back down, but his eyes stayed fixed on her and his worried expression didn't change.

"I hope I didn't offend you. I ain't even been off Shadow before, so it's not like I really know a thing. You been all over, met all kinds of people with different ways. I don't know why I didn't just keep my mouth shut. I don't know what the hell I was talking about. You just ignore everything I said. Are you sure you're all right? You gonna be sick or something?"

Kaylee decided that it was time to stop this—past time. She slid back into the hall to stand and made sure her steps were loud as she clattered into the dining room.

"Hello!" she called out. She gave the table a searching look before turning to the alcove and "discovering" the pair. Inara was indeed pale, and looked breathless. Her face flashed relief to see Kaylee, but her eyes carried a plea for help.

"Malcolm," Kaylee improvised awkwardly. "You ought to go on up to the bridge. Wash said he'd show you around the… um, the ship's controls."

"He did?"

Kaylee hoped her smile was all innocence and candor. "Surely!"

Malcolm stood up, then threw a regretful look at Inara. "I really didn't mean—"

"Please." Inara managed to recover herself enough to stretch her face into a smile. "I'm fine. Go. Play with the ship."

"Well," Mal managed, "I really am sorry if I…." He shook his head, at a loss for words, then gave up and headed to the bridge.

Kaylee immediately went to Inara's side. She knew her ruse wouldn't work for long, and Malcolm'd be back.

"You all right, Inara?"

Inara had a hand pressed into her chest. The act she'd managed for Malcolm was completely falling apart, and her breath was coming in hard gasps. "I can't breathe. Kaylee, I can't…"

Kaylee laid an arm across the woman's back. "Don't try n' talk, Inara."

"Buddha help me… I don't know… what's wrong…"

Kaylee thought she knew; tears were beginning to streak Inara's cheeks. "You're upset, Inara. You're upset is all. I think maybe you need to have yourself a good cry."

"My shuttle… help me…" Inara held her arms out to Kaylee, like a babe wanting to be lifted and held. "Before he comes back…. Please…"

.*. .*. .*.

Zoë, Simon, and Jayne huddled behind a building, looking across a sparsely populated town square that might have been a decent park if it'd hadn't been mostly mud. The dreary evening had discouraged most people of the town from venturing out, but a few hardy souls were doing trade with vendors that lined the street bordering the entrance to the landing docks.

Zoë turned back to Simon after finishing her survey of the territory they had to cross. "Those market guards'll still be looking for three, so we'll take it one at a time. Simon, you first."

The doctor swallowed hard before he set out, as if to clear his heart from his throat. But he did well, walking calmly across the damp gray park, even managing to return a casual hello nod to a woman he passed. He entered the docks and took a turn to the left; Zoë could see him through gaps in the fence as he approached _Serenity_'s entrance and spoke into the comm panel. A few seconds later, the ship's door opened to admit him.

"Jayne," Zoë said.

The merc nodded and made his own way to the ship, overdoing the casual thing so much that he nearly zigzagged the whole square. Zoë had half a mind to yell at him to hurry it up.

But it turned out to be an illuminating path he took. Zoë's eye was caught by a tall thin man in a loose-fitting dull brown suit who stood in front of a vending wagon. While Zoë watched, a child exchanged a few coins for a steaming loaf of bread, but even during the transaction the man's eyes continually returned to Jayne. Zoë could also see how he tried to backtrack, to find the place Jayne had come from.

Zoë wasn't about to let herself get found out like that. She circled around a clump of dripping evergreens that bordered the square, then waited until an old man came to buy bread, distracting the watcher for just long enough for her to cover the distance to the wagon. She came in behind a parked hovercraft, and was only meters away when the shopper took his purchase and left.

"My turn," Zoë said, and she smiled grimly as she pressed her carbine into the man's side.

His reaction was cool; he held his hands out to his sides while he slowly turned to face her. Zoë's smile disappeared as recognition set in—she'd seen this man for only a few minutes, at a distance, and that'd been some months ago, but she knew this face.

"Kamath," she said in shock.

He responded with a slow nod that was almost a bow. It gave her time to recover herself.

"You've gone to some trouble to set up a lookout," she said. "See anything you like?"

"My likes and dislikes are inconsequential," he replied placidly.

"Then I guess you won't object to doin' what I say." She took a firm hold on his arm. "You're comin' with me."

.*. .*. .*.

Translations  
Pì huà: Shit  
gǎn qíng: feeling; emotion; affection; sensation


	8. Chapter 8

**Back Stories Book I****I****I**

_

* * *

The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money._

_Many thanks to my beta readers:  
fireflyfans dot net members __**desertgirl**__ and __**nosadseven**__.  
_

_After this chapter will follow a posting delay.  
__The next few installments are in rough shape, and will take a few weeks to fix.__  
Then it'll be straight on to the end! I'm almost to summer break,  
when I will sit down and finally finish this saga._

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 8  
**

_Jayne Cobb cunningly executed the casual lean of the watchman, a stance that boldly told the world that he had no business to do here, thank you very much, except to hold up this wall and be thoroughly invisibly bored. _

_Every hired gun had this pose down; it was a basic part of the job. When you're not the one in charge, not the one arranging or finalizing the deal, you tended to do a lot of standing about watching, being ready without looking ready, being aware without seeming aware, being interested without appearing at all interested. Though, Jayne had to admit that what was happening at the moment certainly was interesting, enough to draw his eyes away from the station's concourse to fix on the table Mal shared with the contact. The captain had an envelope in his hands, an ugly stained square of paper just like the one he'd gotten from Ricky Lu on New Melbourne a few days ago. The second half of the pay for this delivery job was richer than the first, richer by far judging by the low whistle the captain gave when he finished counting._

_Not that Jayne was close enough to the table to hear such a sound directly. Neither was Zoë; she sat at the bar across the way so that the two of them had all angles covered. But they both could pick up Mal's side of the conversation through the mic the captain wore._

_An electronic voice crackled through the receiver in Jayne's ear. "That's very reasonable of you," Mal said, then he stared at the contact with his mouth hanging half open, like the good pay had caught him so completely by surprise that he'd forgot himself. He must have realized what he looked like, because he snapped his mouth shut, frowned, folded a booted foot over the opposite knee, and returned to his usual tough-captain act. "And why don't you let Ricky know I'll need a little more information in advance if we're to do business together in the future."_

_The contact was a slight man wearing a loose robe and a small but confident smile. Kamath was his name, and he was calmer and more at ease than the average Border world job contact. The mic didn't pick up his reply, but whatever he said caught the captain's interest. _

"_I'm listenin'," Mal said with a nod as he tucked the envelope of cash into his coat. _

_It was some kind of job offer, Jayne worked as much out from the questions Mal asked involving cargo and pay. Jayne couldn't tell the answer to the first question, but the a second brought another low whistle: the money was good then. _

_But, of course, Mal didn't take the job. Jayne had to bite his lip to keep from swearing as he listened to the captain's refusal. Sometimes it seemed the man had no head for business at all._

"_It sounds like a good thing," Mal told Kamath, "but I don't like jumping on it without knowin' some details. I've tried that before, didn't like how it went." _

_Jayne thought he knew what the captain meant: an unfinished job had once ended with an insane crime lord on their tails. "Wouldn't have gone so bad if you'd just delivered the gorramn booty," Jayne muttered quietly. _

_If Mal heard Jayne over the mic he wore in his own ear, he gave no sign. He just glared at Kamath, then tensed up and asked for the second time, "What's the cargo?"_

_Kamath shook his head, and just like that the job was lost for good. With only a few more short exchanges, he and his big payoff were gone. Jayne's bitter eyes followed the small man out of the bar and into the concourse, and that got him looking in the right direction to see Trouble coming. _

_It wasn't fifteen seconds after Kamath left that the shit hit the fan._

.*. .*. .*.

Jayne wasn't normally interested in figuring out life's subtleties, but still he dredged up his memory of the captain's first meeting with Kamath, turning it over and over in his mind. It didn't take a genius to put a few things together: Mal had turned down the man's job offer, and seconds later the heat showed up. They took the captain, and the way they'd questioned him in the following days had broken his mind. If there wasn't a connection between the two, then Jayne may as well give up his trade and take up pastry decorating.

Now Kamath was back, and Zoë'd taken it in her head to bring the man onto the ship. He wasn't armed—Jayne himself had checked carefully—and was as cool and calm as if this was nothing but a social call.

"You need not guard me," Kamath said as he climbed the last few stairs to the upper deck. "I am not an unwilling guest."

Jayne didn't buy it, and neither did Zoë. She was following behind Kamath, and she gave him a jab in the shoulder with her carbine to push him toward the galley. "Mayhap you don't understand the situation," she said. "We don't like bein' ambushed. It's happened twice now when you were in the neighborhood, and I mean to find out why."

Kamath stepped down into the dining room, then looked over his shoulder to reply. "And you will find out. I was waiting for you to return to your ship, hoping that I could speak to you."

"Well then, ain't you lucky. Not everyone gets their heart's desire so easy. Have a seat."

Kamath obliged, taking a spot near the end of the long table. Jayne stood behind the chair, just enough to the side so the man would know he was there, and leaned over him in his most threatening way. Zoë approved; she gave Jayne a nod, then reached for the comm.

"Wash, everybody still here?"

_If the three of you are back,_ came a quick reply through the comm.

"We are, with an addition. I'll explain later. Let's get off this rock."

"I would not recommend that," Kamath said quickly. "You will not be in the air a minute before you are taken."

Zoë turned back to him. " 'Taken?' Is that a threat?"

"You have ruffled feathers in your short time on this world."

Zoë blinked once while she sorted that out. "You're saying we got followed from the market?"

"I'm saying that they did not need to follow you."

"These are public docks," Jayne said. "Anyone wanted us, they'd'a had us easy by now."

Kamath's smile took on a crafty edge. "Unless you are currently protected, and that protection is in danger of being lost."

.*. .*. .*.

Kaylee sat back on the cot that she herself had set out for Inara's use. The shuttle was otherwise bare, the once warm, rich space now colorless and dark. It wasn't at all right, Kaylee decided, and she made up her mind that the first chance she got she'd make this place what it used to be. Inara needed pretty things around her. Even when the Companion was in her current mood, working herself into an ugly tantrum, she ought to have a pretty setting.

"That bù jì huàidàn," Inara muttered as she paced in the uneven light of the shuttle's few lamps. "That yúbèn de, năohuŏ, bùkĕ yīshì, quē xīn yăn, làiháma-faced…."

Kaylee covered her ears to block the ongoing string of insults that the Companion couldn't really mean, especially that last one. Inara had evidently recovered her strength. The conversation with Malcolm, the one Kaylee had shamelessly listened in on, had left Inara so overwhelmed that she'd needed Kaylee's help leaving the galley. But once in the privacy of the shuttle, her mood had quickly changed.

"I can't believe he said that! I can't believe he had the nerve. Even if I did invite him to speak his mind, he should know that he can't just go and insinuate that… that I…" Her mouth worked, but she stopped short of repeating Malcolm's opinions. Instead, she halted her pacing and turned on Kaylee to declare, "_I_ am a Registered Companion. Not only that, I am a good one. I am one of the _best_!"

"Oh," Kaylee said, taken aback by Inara's uncharacteristic boast. "Well, I bet you are. But I don't think he meant to say—"

"I have changed people's _lives_," Inara went on. "I have saved marriages. Yes, a Companion can do that, just by having the right kind of calming words to say at the right time. I've helped boys become men, and not just because they've bedded me. I help them grow up. Do you know what I mean? _Grow up!_"

Kaylee nodded mutely and Inara returned to pacing, her face darkening further.

"I have helped planetary leaders shoulder the burden of their jobs. When I first joined _Serenity_, I had a warden of a prison as a client." She stopped to face Kaylee again. "He found himself in a crisis, the inmates about to riot, and I got him to agree to their demands. Really, I did! Me! He was just hung up over his father being a crook. Once he talked to me about it—fine!

"And that time we were in Canton—did you know we would never have left without me? I helped that boy realize he had a shuāng and he reversed the landlock. Did you know that?"

Kaylee had by now shrunk back against the bulkhead and folded her hands in her lap, cowed by Inara's anger. The woman could work up a storm when she wanted to, and Kaylee thought it best to just shake or nod her head meekly, whichever seemed to fit the moment.

Inara took in a deep breath and shook her head in disbelief. "Ha! _'They think it's enough to give me money_,' he said. Kaylee, I get more than money. My clients are grateful. They appreciate me. They _revere_ me. They send me waves telling me how important I am to them. All the time." She waved a hand at the dormant Cortex terminal. "I could show you. I could show you the gorramn letters. And you see how people react to me. Not just those out on the Rim, who see nothing but a 'fancy Companion',"—Her fingers framed the words in quotes—"but those in the Core, those who know me. They _know_ me. They know the person I am, and they honor me. When I went back to the training house, I had callers, requests for appointments… They'd missed me. _Me_!"

"Inara…" Kaylee said softly, and she reached out a hand. She saw what was happening. The Companion's words were strong, but her voice was weakening. Inara was trying to fight off the emotion that had nearly overcome her in the galley, but her fire was running out.

"Does he even know how hard I worked to earn that kind of respect? Does he know how difficult it is to look and to act and to _be_ so perfectly adaptably desirable that clients can bond with me on a deep level? It's far more than a big title and fancy dress. How dare he talk like what I do, what I've dedicated my life to, means nothing? How dare he? As if he knows anything about it! As if …"

Inara turned in a circle, fighting to the last end, but she couldn't win this battle against herself. She lifted a hand to her face, then with a sob that rent Kaylee's heart she fell to her knees.

Kaylee slid off the cot to wrap her arms around the woman.

"Oh, gods, Kaylee." Inara buried her head against Kaylee's shoulder

Kaylee petted Inara's black hair softly. "Shhh, honey," she whispered. "It'll be okay." She kept on murmuring every nice, soothing thing she could think of while Inara finally got her crying done. Probably, Kaylee thought to herself, fear and worry had been hounding this poor woman during all her trip out from the Core, a trip Kaylee still hadn't heard about in any detail. And then Inara had found Mal in the state he was in, the crew tense and unfriendly, the ship in peril and on the run. No wonder the talk with Malcolm had pushed Inara over the edge.

It was a few long minutes before the Companion found her voice again, though she spoke unevenly, her breath still catching in her chest. "Half the men in the 'verse would pay dearly to be with me. But Mal thinks I'm empty. He called me barren." Her tears started up again. "He thinks I'm worthless. He made me feel absolutely worthless."

"Shhh." Kaylee tightened her hug and rocked Inara gently. "He don't think you're worthless."

Inara's voice cracked against Kaylee's shoulder as she replied, "Yes, he does. He thinks it's all meaningless. He thinks I've wasted my life."

"I heard every word he said." Inara sat up to look her question at Kaylee. "Yes, I did some eavesdroppin', and I'm glad I did, `cause I can tell you without any doubt that what you're thinking ain't at all what he meant. Anyhow, that wasn't even the captain talking."

Inara shook her head. "But that's the worst of it, Kaylee. It wasn't just some green teenager from Shadow. There was Mal in that. I saw him. He doesn't know that he remembers himself, that he remembers me, but he does." Her face started to break again. "That was Mal talking, and he thinks I'm worthless."

"Inara, you listen to me: he thinks you're worth more than any of those clients could ever say. Maybe he don't understand everything you do, but he don't mean to put you down. He thinks you're wonderful, and he thinks you deserve wonderful things."

"I have wonderful things."

"Inara, honey, I love you lots, but I gotta say somethin' you might not wanna hear, okay?"

Inara leaned away from Kaylee. Her face was a mess, her eyes and nose red. "Okay," she said with a snuffle.

"How many people you let do what I'm doing right now? See you like this?"

"Like… ?"

Kaylee reached out to wipe a thumb gently across Inara's wet cheek. Inara looked away and didn't answer.

"That's all he meant. You should have someone to take care a' you. Not Companion you, but broken up, lonely, red-faced, messy-haired Inara."

Inara smiled at the description, then wiped at her eyes and took to tidying her hair. "A Companion is who I am," she said softly.

"A Companion is what you do."

"Kaylee, it isn't like being a mechanic, or a pilot, or a doctor. Everything I am is designed for a purpose."

"I dunno 'bout that. I seen someone else in there. She ain't always perfect, or invitin'. She's even kind'a biè niu sometimes."

Inara smiled. "Sometimes?"

Kaylee nodded. "Just sometimes. And I like her, `cause she's real. I can be myself around that Inara, `cause she's a normal person like me. You think I'd be good friends with some prissy, perfect, plastic, only for sale to the highest bidder kind'a woman?"

"It's not like that."

"Of course you're not."

"I mean, being a Companion isn't. It's the cornerstone of what we do, the reason we aren't whores. What we practice is genuine, heartfelt. Real. A Companion chooses her clients, so that the connection never needs to be forced."

Inara's voice smoothed out as she spoke, and her face relaxed into a something neutral and almost serene. It startled Kaylee; it was as if the crying women had been taken over by a poltergeist, and was channeling a recruitment advertisement from a Guild Training House. The bruised heart that had been showing so plainly was suddenly hidden beyond Kaylee's reach.

Inara noticed Kaylee studying her, and her face lit with a warm smile. "I'm sorry to be such a mess. He just caught me by surprise. And I'm so tired."

"Yeah, I bet you need rest. You had any lunch? Or breakfast even?"

"I… come to think of it, no, I haven't."

Kaylee put her hand over Inara's. "You stay put. I'll bring you some eats, then you get yourself a nap and you'll be all put together again."

.*. .*. .*.

Zoë left Kamath under Jayne's watchful eye for a few moments and went to the bridge where she found Wash entertaining Malcolm. She made some hasty arrangements; she didn't want their visitor to lay eyes on Simon or River, nor did she want Mal's state known. She talked her husband into setting aside his curiosity about Kamath for a moment so he could lead Malcolm belowdecks and check in with the scattered crew, then she returned to the dining room.

Kaylee had come in to gather a tray of food from the galley. In typical fashion, the mechanic took the visitor's presence in stride. She didn't even show any concern over Jayne's threatening stance. "Hey Zoë!" she called out, then she gave the table a wave on her way out. "Enjoy your visit, shēng rén."

"I'll see to it that he does," Jayne said in a low, menacing growl.

Zoë took a seat across from Kamath and leaned forward, her hands folded on the table in front of her. "Okay, explain this again. We only landed because you _let_ us?"

Kamath still appeared unruffled by his situation; he merely shrugged. "It was not a matter of _letting_. I have not that power, and would not have refused you in any case. My people are always watching for potential allies, and when one appears in our skies, we do all we can for them."

"Your people?" Zoë asked.

"The Swatantrata Senani. Those who fight a great beast."

"Beast?" Jayne asked.

"Yes. One you and your crew know well, I think." Kamath fixed his eyes on Zoë. "Which brings to mind: where is your captain? I met him so briefly all those months ago."

"Busy," Zoë said shortly. "Ain't got time to barter with fools."

"It was foolish, then, for the Senani to extend to you our protection?"

"It was foolish to assume we're your allies, after all the problems you've brung on us."

Kamath's expression was blankly noncommittal.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," she pressed. "It was right after we met with you that the captain was taken, and what was done to him… " She shook her head, then focused a hard stare on Kamath. "You care to explain that?"

"I asked your captain for help, and he refused." Zoë tensed and Kamath held up a placating hand. "Don't mistake me—what followed his refusal was not of my doing. I regret any difficulties he experienced. It was not my intention that you become involved with the experiments of the Alliance. I only bring up the offer that was refused because I now have another offer, and I hope this time for a different answer."

"If you're supposin' that we're gonna work with _you_," Jayne muttered, "you really ain't right in the head."

Kamath glanced over his shoulder. "I suppose exactly that, but not out of insanity." He fixed his cool stare on Zoë again. "I offer payment for your cooperation, but not the usual pecuniary type. What I have to give is something I think you will be very much interested in."

Zoë didn't respond.

"I will hazard to guess that your errand on this world does not involve cargo delivery?"

"If you been watching us, you know we ain't dropped anything."

"And so something else interests you, something besides the usual business dealings of smugglers such as yourselves. And this interest leads you back to where your captain and I first met: Oeneus. Correct?"

He did guess the truth, and Zoë didn't like it. She tried to hide her annoyance by leaning back and folding her arms. "Now why would you think us eager to get back to that hellhole?"

Her husband cut into the conversation before Kamath could reply. "Hellhole?" Wash asked as he trotted down the stairs, obviously eager to get in on the conversation. "Which hellhole exactly? We've been to so many."

"Have a seat, dear," Zoë said, then she added wryly, "Kamath here thinks he knows our business, inside and out."

"Thinks he's about to give us an offer we can't refuse," Jayne added. His pale blue eyes drilled into Kamath, lit by a cold eagerness to show the man exactly how wrong he was.

Wash sat down next to Zoë and gave Kamath his own brand of keen look. "An offer we can't refuse? How very tempting. Except… pardon me, but didn't you completely screw the captain over once already?"

Kamath sighed. "As I explained, that was not of my doing."

"And how was that exactly?" Zoë asked.

Kamath finally betrayed some emotion; his jaw clenched and he raised a hand to his face, absent-mindedly pinching his lower lip. He didn't like the admission he was about to make, but he took a deep breath and forced the words out. "I have since learned that, on the day I met with your captain, I was being tracked."

Zoë leaned toward him again. "Tracked?"

He lowered his hand and met her eye. "Yes. My connection to the Swatantrata Senani was known. The spies of the Alliance were using me to find our allies even as I recruited them to join our cause."

"But we weren't recruited!" Wash protested. "No recruits here! We never worked for you. All we ever carried was some extremely harmless seafood."

Jayne backed the pilot up. "Whatever job you offered, Mal turned it down cold. He never even got a bit of detail out of you."

"It didn't matter," Zoë said, half to herself. She'd fought the Alliance long enough that she understood how they worked. "Mal spoke to Kamath, and that was enough to make the captain suspect in their eyes."

Kamath nodded. "Such is the thoroughness of the Alliance."

Zoë fixed him with a dark look. "And yet, here you are, still running about on the loose. They ain't ever arrested you."

Kamath had the grace to lower his eyes, as if in heartfelt shame. "Through me, many brave men and women were captured. That is a weight I must bear, a regret that will never fade. It was nearly two weeks before I saw the pattern and knew I had been marked. I escaped then, barely. I left all I ever owned behind on Oeneus."

He shook his head, then set his elbows on the table and leaned toward Zoë with his hands pressed together, looking earnest and direct. "But we lose our way," he said. "Speaking of the past does no good for the present. You have need of haste. Tán Hé knows that someone has come looking for Ricky Lu."

"Tán Hé?" Zoë asked before she remembered that she'd heard that name before. She'd heard it recently: _'Tán Hé business!__ Stay clear of the market!'_

She answered her own question. "The security guards that came after us. Folks on the street sure did back off when they heard that name."

Jayne snorted dismissively. "Suits with sonics don't scare _us_ none."

Kamath's laugh was sharp and condescending, as if he found them both amusingly ignorant. "Tán Hé are a great deal more than security guards. They are the Alliance's right arm. You may feel you have escaped them by slipping away from the market, but you have not. You drew their attention, and it will remain firmly focused. 'Is this a Senani smuggler looking for Ricky Lu?' they are even now asking themselves. 'We must do all we can to find out.' They will be particularly interested in any ship leaving for Oeneus in the next few hours."

"There you go makin' assumptions again," Zoë said. "Why is it that you think you know our plans?"

He shrugged. "Let's just play for a moment that I do. Let's suppose that you wish very _badly_ to return to Oeneus. If that were the case, you would need to know that the Alliance has become a very heavy weight on the back of that world. When you delivered Ricky Lu's cargo, the Alliance had only just arrived on Oeneus. You found that the search of your ship wasn't a demanding process. 'Pretty shoddy' were your captain's words, if I recall correctly. But things have changed, and the servants of the Alliance are now well settled. No carrier of cargo may land without—how would one say it?—without having every crevice thoroughly sniffed. It is not so easy to slip onto the world as it once was."

"Why?" Zoë asked. "What is the Alliance so interested in?"

"That is something we still do not understand," Kamath said with an impatient huff, "though we do all we can to learn. We do know how they've brought about their position of power: Blue Sun. You must know them? Yes, they are here as everywhere, selling their goods. Food, beverage, medicines, furniture, hovercraft, electronics, clothing. Everything. Every item a body could want, they provide. Of course, not everyone is happy with this convenience. Some would rather provide for themselves, and for their neighbors, without help from the corporations of the Core. This was the case for our common acquaintance, Ricky Lu."

He smiled sadly and shook his head. "Ricky is a fine man, if simple. He had no desire to be involved in political battles. He just wanted to do his business, sell his food. Perhaps he was guilty of hoping to see bigger profits than the average man should expect. Perhaps he wanted to move his wife and children into a better home, one further up the slopes from the seaside marshes of New Melbourne, where he would have the ocean view but not the salt spray and ruinous surf of summer storms.

"Blue Sun does not like such an enterprising spirit, not from someone outside their own ranks. Blue Sun does not like giving up even a small part of their market." He nodded to Zoë. "I think you are one who knows how Alliance law works. Denizens of Border worlds have no voice in the trade agreements that rule their lives. Blue Sun may bring in mercenary forces like Tán Hé merely because the market share is in danger, and we can do nothing about it. Nothing within the law, anyway."

"Tán Hé are hired guns then?" Zoë asked.

"Not 'hired guns' in the sense that your man is." He tipped his head back toward Jayne. "They are neither so coarse nor so obvious. They are as well funded and highly trained as any of the Alliance's military. In terms of power, one could argue that they have more. Parliament contracts with them, but they are not officially part of the Alliance government, and so they are not subject to its limits.

"Their price is high, but their might on a remote border world like Oeneus…" He help his hands out helplessly. "Swatantrata Senani is our only recourse. It is the only way we can fight, the only hope of regaining our freedom. But we need help. Against the resources Blue Sun and Tán Hé have at their fingertips, we need a great deal of help."

Zoë shook her head. "Got news for you, Kamath: I ain't gonna get caught up in your fight, no matter how woeful you think your situation."

"And yet, here you are, and here you will remain for the few short hours my people can keep you hidden from the eyes you drew in the market. Unless you are more willing to deal this time."

"Deal?"

"You will carry my cargo to Oeneus, and I will provide your ship with the means to land safely."

Zoë pushed herself to her feet, her face hard as stone. "I don't take to strangers giving me orders. How `bout this: you tell your people that you ain't getting off this ship in one healthy, breathing piece until we're safely away from the prying eyes of these Tán Hé. How's that work for you?"

He was unruffled by the threat. "Your captain's problems," he said, and he tapped his forehead lightly, "you think you can solve them on your own?"

Wash gasped in disbelief at Kamath's words, but Zoë's reaction was more extreme. She reached across the table to grab the man by his neat cotton collar and jerk him out of his chair. "What do you know about his problems?" she demanded harshly. "What do you know?"

"Strange behavior, correct?" Kamath said, forcing the words out despite the cloth pulling tight around his throat. "Paranoia, grief, sudden anger, memory loss. Familiar?"

Zoë pursed her lips; the man's calm know-it-all-ness made her want to do him violence. She gave him a hard shake.

"Tell me!" she ordered. "What do you know about it?"

"Please." He lifted his chin and raised his hands to his collar, gently trying to extricate his shirt from her grasp. "This is unnecessary."

"Maybe, but it sure feels good." She gave him one more shake, then a hard push back into his chair. "You got one chance to come clean before I let _him_ take over." She nodded to Jayne, who was now holding a very large knife.

Kamath glanced over his shoulder and Zoë felt some satisfaction that a look of alarm cracked his cool shell. He took to straightening his shirt and collecting himself, and his calm mask soon returned.

"I tell you in all honesty," he finally said, "I do not know the full reason for your captain's condition, nor the cure, but I know the cause. Ricky Lu was showing these symptoms, as were other Senani who were questioned as your captain was."

"And what's happened to them?" Zoë demanded.

Kamath shrugged.

She leaned over the table again. "Don't think I'm asking this mildly. What happened to them?"

"I don't know. People who have lost contact with their own minds are a danger to an organization like the Senani. Those who were showing the symptoms were isolated, and I have not been in contact with them for some time. The solution to their problem is not my task. I leave it to others. I leave it to you.

"I tell you only this: the answers you seek must lie on Oeneus. That is where Tán Hé did their work on your captain, and that is where they hide their secrets. Well, perhaps their leaders in the Core know all, but you wouldn't have much chance of infiltrating Parliament. Better that you go to Oeneus."

Zoë stood back and folded her arms. She understood the game now. "And if we do your bidding, carry your goods, you'll get us there right under their noses."

It wasn't a question, but Kamath responded with a nod.

Wash's fidgeting caught Zoë's eye; her husband was red-faced, and looked to be biting back some very strong words. She shook her head at him, hoping he'd keep quiet. She wanted to learn more about Kamath and his 'freedom fighters'.

"You really think your people can do it?" she asked.

"The process has already begun," Kamath explained with more than a little smugness. "You were fortunate, you see, that on approach to this world you appeared on the scanner run by one of ours, a woman who has held a trusted position in New Melbourne traffic control for many years. As I told you already, the Firefly _Serenity_ is of interest to us: a crew that once fell victim to the Alliance establishment on Oeneus may be willing to lend us aid. So we extended our protection. You spoke only to our woman on your approach, and she registered your ship as the Firefly _Argus_.

"There is indeed a Firefly _Argus_, a ship of similar type and markings as yours, which is known to carry out business on these worlds but is now operating in a far quadrant. With a few

alterations to your exterior and a new pulse beacon that we will provide, you can continue to wear this disguise on Oeneus."

"You got people on the inside there, too?"

"Only a few, but they are extremely helpful."

Wash was almost jumping out of his chair with impatience, but Zoë went on with her questioning.

"And they'll make it so we can just fly right in?"

Kamath nodded. "Establishing your identity here on new Melbourne gives you a first step. Of course, your ship will be thoroughly searched when you land. That shouldn't be a difficulty; the cargo I have for you is designed to be easily concealed."

"What is the cargo?"

Unlike the first meeting Kamath had had with the captain, Kamath answered Zoë's question directly. "Weapons, of course."

This was more than Wash could take; he sprung to his feet. "Why are you even talking to him about this?" he demanded of Zoë. Without giving her a chance to speak, he gave his own reply to Kamath. "There's no way we're doing it! We're not smuggling things that kill, and we won't be pressured into it. It wouldn't even work anyway. I mean," he turned back to Zoë, "what about Mal? These Tán Hé must have records of him escaping from Oeneus. He'll be seen when our ship is getting her 'crevices sniffed,' as this shǎzi puts it, and that'll be the end of it. This is all completely ridiculous!"

Zoë wasn't about to disagree with her husband. "He speaks the truth, Kamath. The captain ain't the only one of our crew who's best to lay low. Even if I had any interest in working with you—which I don't—it'd be no good. This crew ain't in any kind of shape to be sliding by the law."

Jayne was also in full agreement. "I say we light out of here `fore these Tán Hé people figure out who we are. We can drop this one out the hatch when we're halfway up."

Zoë was inclined to agree, except for the killing part. If Kamath was speaking the truth, he was battling an enemy she'd spent much of her own life fighting. His methods may tend toward the underhanded and unscrupulous, but sometimes that was just necessary. She knew very well that war wasn't pretty. It never had been, and it never would.

She wasn't going to take part in this man's battle, but she wasn't going to get in his way either.

"No, Jayne," she said, and she nodded toward the fore hatch. "He can walk out, and he can do it right now. We're done here."

She thought she was being mighty gracious, more so than Kamath had any right to expect, but evidently he didn't appreciate her offer. He didn't budge from his chair.

"That wasn't a request," she clarified pointedly. "I do have some understanding of your cause, but I don't like your methods, and there's no way I'm getting me and mine involved. Now, I suggest you get off this ship before I decide to let my hired man do things his way."

"Yeah, my 'obvious, coarse' way," Jayne added resentfully.

Kamath sighed. "You force me to become unpleasant," he said softly. "You see, this cargo is needed, quickly. Your arrival here on New Melbourne is a opportunity I cannot let pass. I _must_ make use of you."

"Are you deaf?" Zoë said. "Or just stupid? We can't do what you want done. Once the people we got on board are seen, this precious gunnery of yours'll get snatched, without a doubt."

"There are ways of dealing with that complication," Kamath said. "Your 'wanted' can be kept safe."

Zoë dropped a hand to the carbine on her hip. "I ain't leaving any of my crew behind, not with your people, not anywhere. No way."

"You will not need to. Come, this arguing is pointless. The cargo is already being prepared, and will be delivered to this ship in the early morning hours. You must be ready to leave shortly after dawn."

Wash huffed. "I think we're ready to leave right now, without the added complication of you and your brewing war." He stood up and took a step toward the bridge. "I suggest you get moving, if you don't want to find yourself a stowaway, because this ship is sailing right now."

Kamath sighed, then spoke up with the sharp clarity of a man finally laying down his ultimatum. "If you lift off without Senani's cargo on board, without setting a course for Oeneus, or with me still on board, you will find an unpleasant welcome waiting for you in the skies above. I sincerely hope you do not try this, because I will be arrested along with you. It would be a victorious day for our oppressors."

"You'll turn yourself in, just to turn us in?" Jayne asked, incredulous. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Kamath folded his arms.

"Ain't much of a choice you're giving me," Zoë said. "Either you turn us in here on New Melbourne, or we get caught smuggling on Oeneus. We're done either way."

Kamath shook his head. "You are only half right. If you refuse my offer, your fate is assured. But if you work with the Senani, if you make every effort to complete this delivery, you will win the chance to help your captain." He held a hand toward the chair Zoë had vacated, as if this were his own private office and he was inviting her to take a seat. "Please, while we wait for the cargo, we may as well plan for the safe transport of Captain Reynolds and any other of your crew you are concerned about."

Zoë stood and stared down at him for a long minute, then sighed. She settled into the chair, feeling her shoulders slump with resignation.

"You can't be serious!" Wash said. "You're really going to do this?"

"I got a choice?" Zoë asked in a flat, resigned voice, but she caught her husband's eye just long enough for him to see that her will was unbroken.

She was fine with letting Kamath think he'd beat her. He wasn't the only one who knew how to play hardball, and she didn't mean to let him celebrate his victory for long.

.*. .*. .*.

Translations  
bù jì huàidàn: useless scoundrel  
yú bèn de:stupid  
năo huŏ:annoying  
bùkĕ yīshì: insufferably arrogant  
quē xīn yăn: inconsiderate  
làiháma: toad  
shuāng: pair  
hēng rén: stranger  
shǎzi: idiot; fool  
biè niu: difficult; stubborn; contrary  
tán: dark; unclear; private  
hé: river


	9. Chapter 9

**Back Stories Book III**

_The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money._

**Chapter 9  
**

**

* * *

**

With a whirl of rain and wind, Ginger Larkin stumbled through the hatch of the Alliance military transport. She had such a long face that Will had to break into a grin. "What?" he asked. "You didn't get to make kissy with the big guy?"

To his surprise, his partner didn't attempt a denial, but fell into the co-pilot's seat with a huff. "I'd a' been more than happy to, but things got interrupted."

She got busy squeezing rainwater out of her hair, but Will fixed her with a hard stare until she explained.

"Seems we ain't the only ones after Reynolds and his crew. They barely set foot in that fish market before all kinds of hell cut loose."

"This hell have a name?"

"Tán Hé."

Will frowned—this was a complication he didn't need. "Tán Hé? I wonder what they're up to out here on New Melbourne."

"They're up to makin' a scene, that's what, going after the crew of _Serenity_ like they did."

"Reynolds?"

"Nope. He wasn't there. It was the two gunhands—the big guy and the woman. The doc was there too."

"Ah, yes. Simon I believe was the name." Will gingerly touched the bridge of his nose, feeling a slight bend that hadn't been there before his encounter with the young doctor. The break was nearly healed by now, but still tender.

Ginger nodded. "Yep. He'd have known me, so I had to stay back in the crowd. I might have grabbed the big guy on their way out and had my evil way with him,"—she flicked a rebellious look at Will—"but that's when Tán Hé showed."

Will ignored her rebellious sass and swiveled the pilot's chair to look out the main cockpit window. He'd set down in a private strip across a small inlet from the city's public docks; though it was now full dark and the rain had picked up, the yard around the distant Firefly was brightly lit and he had a clear view. _Serenity_ was sitting as peacefully as a yacht on a pleasure cruise.

"What are these idiots up to, getting themselves in trouble with Tán Hé?" he muttered, speaking the question to himself. "Sheesh." Complications, indeed. Now he'd probably have to dig into the crew's business on New Melbourne, at least find out why they hadn't fled the world as fast as they could after being accosted in the market by such people. Reynolds' crew had to be planning something, to stick around like they were.

The most obvious course of action would be to contact Tán Hé directly, but then Will would have to explain his own mission. Tán Hé wouldn't take kindly to someone competing for their prey. Will sighed. No, that wouldn't do. He'd have to gather information the old-fashioned way: send a subordinate to get it.

"I want you back out there," he told Ginger. "The Firefly hasn't moved, so they're not running. Not yet, anyhow. I want your eye on that ship, and your feet following anyone who leaves it." A flashing light on the console caught his eye. It was a wave coming in from Trevor Marone. Will wasn't about to answer, not in front of Ginger. If she found out that Marone's orders were to stay back and not engage Reynolds, she'd be even more of a headache than usual. "Talk to your dear mercenary if you catch him alone," Will went on, "or hire locals to ask questions of the others, whatever you need to do. As long as you're smart about it—don't get found out."

"What'll you be doing meantime?"

"Don't worry about that. Just do your own job."

He waited until she made her slow way off the ship, then turned to the comm. He noted where the ignored call had been routed from: Oeneus. Apparently, Marone had made his way back out to the Rim.

.*. .*. .*.

After a brief and only partly satisfying conversation, Trevor Marone shut down his uTex and returned to the hospital's cafeteria. He found his table empty. His lunch date's cluttered tray was still in place, her fully stuffed purse slung over her chair, but she was no where to be seen.

He sat down, unworried, and smiled fondly as he nibbled the last of his carrot sticks. Technically, Ellen wasn't his _date_. In fact, this had been a working lunch entirely taken up with sober conversation. But he'd known the woman for much of his life, and though she was the happily married mother of three grown children and more than a decade his elder, he couldn't help but have something of a crush on her. Like a schoolboy never forgets his love for his favorite grammar school teacher, Trevor would always have a soft spot for Ellen Rowlee.

Ellen's absence was explained when she came out of the cafeteria carrying a finishing touch to her lunch: tapioca pudding.

"It's just not something I ever make at home," she explained as she settled into her seat. "And at times like this I have to wonder why."

She scooped up a spoonful and tipped back her head of well-coifed gray hair as she savored the dessert, rolling it in her mouth with enough obvious enjoyment to make Marone smile. He bit into another carrot stick with little satisfaction.

"Was it a girlfriend?" Ellen asked. She nodded at the uTex he still held in his hand.

He shook his head as he set the device on the table next to his tray. "Not at all. Business."

"You've been working entirely too much." She finished another spoonful before shaking a wrinkled but well manicured finger at him. "Trevor, I say this to you only because I know you'll forgive me, but here we go: It's time."

He knew exactly what she meant, but shrugged in feigned ignorance.

"It's been almost eight years since the war," she went on, forcing the issue. "You'll never find another Sophie, but you're not really such a playboy as you've been acting. You need to settle down."

He dropped his eyes and didn't reply immediately. Ellen had been his family physician since his daughter was born, had cared for himself and his family through the happy early years, as well as the tragic times that followed. Her advice deserved consideration.

Sophie, his wife, had slowly faded in her sickness during the early years of the war, and her loss had been soon followed by the sudden death of his daughter, victim of the "accidental" shooting down of a civilian transport by Alliance forces. Ellen had been the only one who really saw what the losses did to him. Ellen's friendship had helped him through it. She'd saved his life, he would even say.

And so Marone had insisted that Dr. Ellen Rowlee handle the business that had taken over his life in the past few months, refusing to let the overly trained and underly empathetic "experts" sent from the Core take over. Ellen might not have the technical knowledge that they did, but no one could be better at monitoring and directing the medical group's progress and keeping the primary goal in view. She'd lived up to the faith he had in her. She'd sorted through the technical lingo to find the best path to help the patients in her care, no matter how many medical specialists with overblown egos and powerful corporate sponsors stood in her way.

Marone realized he'd been silent for some time. He recovered by putting on his most charming smile and nodding at Ellen suggestively. "I would _settle down_ in a second, but all the best women are taken."

She understood his meaning. "You awful flirt!" she reprimanded with a smile as she reached out to lightly slap his arm.

He continued on track. "When are you going to make me the happiest of men and run away with me? I can call for a shuttle right now. In six hours we can be relaxing on a beach on Bernadette."

"Only six hours?"

"I've moved up in the world lately. I have access to some _very_ impressive ships."

"Well. Aren't we a big cog in the biggest wheel." She pulled a serious face and checked her watch. "I'm afraid that I have afternoon rounds, then a meeting with my staff to prepare for the coming Visitation by Important People."

He grinned at her. "Are the country mice in a tither?"

"Running amok. I don't understand it. Westfield isn't even in Parliament. He's only a Chancellor, for Heaven's sake!"

"Don't underestimate the man. Sometimes those outside the spotlight can do more than the ones pinned down by it." He frowned thoughtfully. "Westfield gives the impression of one who can juggle many kettles at once, but never spill a drop from any of them."

"You've met him?"

Marone raised his brows as he nodded. "Remember—I am one of the Very Important now. At least until the present business is done."

She set down her empty dessert cup and sized him up. "If I'd known that, I might have worn a nicer dress."

"You know," he said casually, waving his last carrot stick in the air in front of him, "I made an entire Alliance Battleship change course not long ago."

"Indeed?"

He nodded, then threw the carrot into the trash pile on his finished tray. "I really did. This whole thing has been completely bizarre." He picked up his uTex and frowned at it. "Moments ago, I delivered orders to Alliance agents, the undercover kind. Probably the same type of people who assassinated Independents during the war. But now they're doing what _I_ tell them."

Ellen leaned forward, her mien matching his serious tone, and reached out to take hold of his wrist. "You're doing good work. We're making progress here."

He couldn't disagree. They'd spent most of their lunch discussing the work done by her group, and though Marone was no doctor and understood few of the technicalities, it was clear that Ellen's medics were nearing a breakthrough.

"Certainly," he agreed with a nod, "you are. I'm glad to hear it."

She gave him a keen look. "Well, thank you for finally saying that. For a man who's been chasing this thing for months, you haven't been jumping for joy to hear that we've almost made it."

He dropped his head; she was right. He hadn't exactly been a cheery lunch date. "I'm sorry. Perhaps it's my return to Oeneus, seeing all that's changed on our world…" He glanced toward the windows that opened out from the cafeteria. The view was only of the inner yard, the small garden enclosed by the hospital's thick corridors, but his inner eye gazed further, to the adjoining buildings of the newly built Alliance military base, and beyond them the tense, deserted streets of the capitol city.

"Yes," Ellen said, her heavy tone showing that she had followed the path of his thoughts. "It does weigh on one. Our world is closer to all-out war now than it was a decade ago, during the actual war. Without the system-wide battles to drown us out, I wonder what those in the Core make of us— a distant planet making such a ruckus."

Marone shrugged. "When I was on Londinium, I never heard a thing about Oeneus. Not even on the furthest back pages of the news. I would have had no idea what was happening if I wasn't in direct contact with people I know out here."

Ellen shook her head sadly. "That makes one feel unimportant."

"Important or not, work remains to be done." Marone sighed and pushed back his chair.

Ellen followed his example, picking up her tray. "Yes, indeed. Westfield's visit has been delayed by 'official business', and I'd like to use the extra day to update our reports. We're so close with those we have in custody, and we're only missing the one subject now…."

"You may your missing man soon," Marone assured her. At her hopeful look, he nodded at the uTex in his free hand. "The call I just received… I'll explain on the way out."

.*. .*. .*.

Richard Westfield made a mental note to himself: _Lieutenant Brady is an idiot._

The Lieutenant's horrendous blunder had been discovered by the hired Agents when they arrived on Highgate to pick up the captured woman, but Westfield hadn't realized the depth of the man's stupidity until he saw the captive for himself. She looked nothing like the Tam girl, besides being small in stature and dark-haired. Well, the doctor did look much younger than her age, and had large brown eyes not unlike River Tam's, but Victoria Zhou had a sharper jaw and higher cheekbones. It was more than enough of a difference that a military man should see it.

However, Westfield wouldn't be getting a chance to give Brady the dressing down he deserved, because the young Lieutenant was far away, trying to make up for his error, trying to trace the Tams. Westfield was left to seek answers here on Londinium, with the pretty young doctor who'd gone to MedAcad with Simon Tam.

Victoria Zhou had been unconscious through her entire journey to the Core, but was now awake. The blue gloved Agents had brought her out of her drugged sleep, and all three were now in a small room behind a large one way mirror. Dr. Zhou was seated, the after-effects of the drugs evident in her swollen face, red eyes, and expression of misery.

"I've explained the basics more than once," she told the Agents impatiently. "River and Simon locked me up and escaped. You must have worked out as much from the state of my clinic. She and Simon did all that damage."

"Yes, we understand," the thinner of the two neatly suited Agents said. "But we're more interested in the reason Simon Tam came to you in the first place. What did he want?"

The doctor sighed and dropped her face into her hands. "It was an electrical generatorthat can be used to manipulate brain function."

"Why would he need such a device?"

"He said he had someone to treat, someone with brain damage."

"Who?"

"A man he was traveling with."

"Do you ever meet this man or hear details of his condition?"

Her face remained buried in her hands. "No."

"Dr. Zhou, I'm sure you recall the discussion with my colleague and I approximately a year ago, and so you know that Simon Tam is a wanted fugitive. And yet, you allowed him to work in your lab for two days before you called the authorities. Why is that?"

The doctor lifted her pale face; she looked like she was about to be sick. "I did report him."

"After two full days."

"I wasn't sure what was happening. I thought it likely that the whole thing had been a mistake and he wasn't really a fugitive. I mean—Simon? A criminal?" She scoffed at the idea.

"Dr. Zhou, this is no laughing matter," one Agent pressed. "You committed a very serious crime when you abetted Simon Tam."

She nodded. "I know it was a mistake. I tried to make up for it. I have no desire to act against Alliance law."

The two agents exchanged a look of doubt. Westfield knew their thoughts; he'd read this woman's file as well. When she'd been questioned a year earlier, she'd been disrespectful to the Agents. Her attitude had bordered on seditious.

"So why don't you explain again—who was the sick person that Simon wanted to treat?"

She shook her head. "I never met him."

"Did you ever talk to River Tam?"

"I wouldn't call it talking. She called me some names while she and Simon were making their escape, after I called your people. That was the only time she spoke to me."

"What did Simon Tam tell you about his sister?"

The doctor's shoulders drew up, then fell as she exhaled heavily. "Look, I know you government types like to repeat all your questions at least six times, but can't that wait? I feel absolutely terrible."

"No, I'm afraid it can't wait. We need to know what Simon Tam told you."

She dropped her head into her hands again, and her face was hidden as she replied, "Nothing I didn't already know. He took her out of her school and ran off. Wanted an adventure, maybe. I don't know."

Even Westfield could read the lie in her voice and body language, so he wasn't surprised when the Agent reached into the inner pocket of his jacket. When Westfield saw the thin metal rod that the man was reaching for, he turned and left the observation booth with a sigh. Victoria Zhou happened to be the daughter of one of the wealthiest CEOs in Sihnon's transportation sector. Her disappearance was going to need to be explained with care.

The matter would have to wait; Westfield had other business to attend to. A transport was waiting to take him to the Rim world of Oeneus, where several projects were waiting for his guiding hand.

.*. .*. .*.

Wash stood next to his wife just inside the open bay doors, staring out into the night, waiting. The cargo they'd had forced on them was on its way, to arrive at any minute. As much as carrying weapons for a secretive underground militia angered Wash, his thoughts were busy elsewhere—with the welfare of the half of the crew that would be traveling separate from the ship.

"You really think they'll be safer on public transport?" he asked.

Zoë grimaced her doubt, but nodded. "I think Kamath is serious about getting this cargo, and he'll take care that nothing bad happens to any of us. At least, not until the delivery is made. He knows I ain't happy, and I'll dump his goods if I get even half a reason."

"But public transport?" Wash asked. "How is that safer?"

"Some of the ferry's crew is on Kamath's side, so he says." Zoë turned to look Wash in the eye. "Honestly, I ain't too worried about it. I'll be with Mal and River, and Inara's got a good head on her shoulders. She'll see that Simon stays out of trouble. What concerns me more is those of you travelin' on _Serenity_."

"The _Argus_, you mean?" Wash asked, trying to make the ship's assumed name roll off his tongue with ease.

"That's the one." She looked over her shoulder into the cargo bay. "I'm leaving Jayne on the ship for a purpose, and it ain't to play guard dog. The man knows guns."

Wash followed her eye to the weapons lockers. The mercenary was busy sorting through them, preparing his personal arsenal for an upcoming delivery run that was far from usual.

"Jayne!" Zoë called out.

The man looked up, then slung an ammo belt over one shoulder, stuffed a shotgun under the other arm, and came to join them with something large and dangerous in his free hand. He started to explain his selections, but Zoë cut him off.

"I want to be clear about this now, since I doubt we'll get much chance to talk once Kamath's delivery crew shows. I'll be heading off with our 'vacationers' to catch the morning ferry, and you'll be left on the ship with chores to do."

Jayne set down the shotgun on the stairway landing behind him and inspected the mobile canon in his right fist as he snickered his doubt. "Goin' through with it then? Cause I can't see as why anyone would vacate on a world about to go civil war. Ain't much of a cover."

"My cover is my problem. Your problem is one you'll be handling in the galley."

Jayne stopped fiddling with his weapon to squint at her in confusion.

"You're gonna mix up something tasty. I could give you a recipe, but I figure you got something fitting in that head somewhere." She reached into her vest for her coin purse and started counting out coins. "Especially if you take the early morning to go shopping for ingredients. You'll have to find a place open at sunrise and get back here before the ship lifts off."

Wash was just as confused as Jayne looked. "While I enjoy the prospect of eating well," the pilot told his wife, "and would like to think our little Jayne has the skills to make that happen, what in the hell are you talking about?"

Zoë weighed the coins in her hand. "I'm talking about a proper mix of chemicals that'll eat through a firing pin and corrode a barrel. I'm talking about a few grams of paste slipped into the right place so it won't be noticed and won't stop a test fire, but after a day or two…"

"It'll destroy the weapons, making them absolutely useless," Wash finished for her.

Zoë smiled, her eyes glinting in the shadows of the bay. "Kamath'll learn the hard way that it ain't wise to push the unwilling into joinin' a cause."

"You've been planning this all along, haven't you?" Wash asked, and then he joyfully wrapped his arms around her. "I should've known you weren't letting him bully you. Now that's the wife I know and love!"

Jayne nodded to himself. "I know a mix'll do the job. I'll have to make it weak so they don't smell it. It'll take a few days to finish its work."

"By then, we'll have to be long gone from these parts," Zoë said.

Jayne began to turn away, but Zoë called him back. She shook a few mores coins out of the little purse. "While you're out, pick up tickets for the ferry to Oeneus, the first to leave the piers in the morning. Get us a private cabin. Cheapest they got that fits three." Jayne arched a brow at her. "Inara's handlin' the tickets for her and Simon, since they're traveling separate. But check in with her on your way out, see if she's needing anything to help with their cover."

The sound of a small engine rose in the distance. This time of the morning, there wasn't much traffic outside, so that had to be Kamath's delivery wagon. Jayne took the extra money and hurried back to the lockers to put his largest guns away, then took a moment at the comm. Wash stayed where he was, enjoying the last few private minutes with Zoë that he was likely to have for a while.

"Are you sure you can handle River and Malcolm by yourself?" he asked.

"I have to. Can't have Simon and River traveling together."

"And it makes sense to have Inara keep on eye on Simon," Wash said. "How are you going to explain traveling with a teenager and a grown man who thinks he's a teenager?"

Zoë sighed. "I have no idea."

As headlights brightened on the ship's open doors, Jayne slammed the lockers shut and stalked by. He made it down the ramp and disappeared into the darkness just before a powered mule pulled a heavily loaded trailer into the ship. Wash dropped his arms from his wife and followed her out onto the ramp.

.*. .*. .*.

Ginger followed the mercenary through the dark, empty streets. The sight of his big body, moving with confidence and the brutal grace of a long-time fighting man, had an effect on her, but she knew better to give into temptation. There was no saying how he would respond to seeing her here at this time of the morning, even if he had told her himself that he'd be on this world.

So she stayed at a distance as she followed him across the docks, until he stopped at a ticket machine on the public ferry pier. Ginger took some risk in moving closer, positioning herself to see his hands move across the screen. After he took his purchase, she waited until he was out of site and hurried to take his place, and repeated his selections.

The 9 AM ferry to Oeneus.

She tried to find him again on the streets, but he'd disappeared. She turned back to the private docks, glad that her long wait in the rain hadn't been wasted. She pulled a comm out of her pocket and waved Will.

.*. .*. .*.

"You're kidding, right?" Zoë asked Kamath. "Your big plan for getting contraband through a search is to put it right out in the open?" She held a hand out to the three large racks that Kamath's men were currently strapping to the bay's deck and bulkheads. Each was a bundle of 25 kilogram bags labeled _mĭ fĕn_.

Kamath smiled. "Rice flour is hardly cause for alarm, even for agents of the Alliance."

"If rice flour was all you had in them bags, you wouldn't be strong armin' us to carry them for you. All it needs is one scan for magnetics. Even a sonic scan might see the armory inside. Metal has one hell of an obvious signature."

"What ever gave you the idea I was moving guns?"

Wash spoke up impatiently. "Maybe it was how you told us you were."

"I said it was a weapon. Not all weapons are guns."

Zoë and Wash exchange a worried look. "What is it then?" Zoë asked.

"Nothing you need concern yourself about," Kamath said. "Here is what you need to know: the cargo is scattered through each bag, but is absolutely undetectable. You could cook with this flour, and even eat moderate amounts of it, with no ill effects. The agents who search your ship can cut into the bags, take samples, take a taste, without knowing what you really carry. You haven't a thing to worry about."

"It it's that easy, why do you need us?"

"It's all a matter of timing. Due to other complications, yours is the only ship available to me right now, and this cargo is time sensitive. Your arrival on Oeneus is expected in eighteen hours, without delay. Your course is set?"

This last question was addressed to Wash, who took a long minute to draw his suspicious gaze off the cargo. He gave Kamath a once-over that plainly showed his unwillingness to go along with this scheme.

"Wash?" Zoë asked.

The pilot finally answered sourly, "The course was set, but I'll have to rework it to get us there that fast. We're burn through fuel like nobody's business"

"You will be reimbursed for the cost. You must not be late."

"Time sensitive, huh?" Zoë asked.

"Indeed. As soon as we are done securing the cargo, which should be momentarily,"—he paused to glance at his workers—"you must be off."

"We have to wait for one of our men. He's buying the ferry tickets for my crew."

"As soon as he's back…"

"Of course."

Zoë stood silently, arms crossed, until the workers finished. Kamath gave a last wave and cracked a small smile while he wished them the best of luck. This drew no response but glares.

As soon as the cargo bay doors sealed, Wash swore. "Zhòu mà! There goes your plan! What do you suppose this stuff really is?" He crouched beside a bale of goods and laid a hand on one of the bags, then rubbed his fingers together with a frown, as if he was afraid of the residue.

Zoë shook her head. "Chemical, biological…. something like that. I seen it used before, and it sure ain't pretty." She stepped closer to the cargo. "This must be only part of it, though, if it's harmless and undetectable. Must be just one ingredient in whatever it is they're planning to use." She stared down her nose at the bags, and her hand went to her carbine. For a few seconds, Wash thought she might up and shoot the stuff.

But she just shook her head again. "Jayne can't do a thing about something like this. I can."

"You mean—?"

"Jayne's gonna have to go with Malcolm and River."

"After what happened on Highgate? He's hardly a dependable babysitter!"

"He'll have to learn."

Wash rocked back on his heels and looked up at her. "And how is it exactly that _you_ know how to work with something like this? Bio-weapons were hardly a favorite with the Independents, as I hear."

"Ain't got time for the tellin'," Zoë said. "Go on up and set the fastest course the ship can manage. And tell the others—rest of the plan stays exactly the same."

"You mean, Book?"

She nodded, then turned on her heel and stalked toward the passenger dorms.

.*. .*. .*.

Translations:  
mĭ fěn: rice flour  
zhòu mà: damn


	10. Chapter 10

**Back Stories Book III**

_The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money._

**Chapter 10**

**

* * *

**

On _Serenity_ (now the _Argus_):

The main engines fired as soon as the ship cleared atmo. Wash tightened his grip on the controls and the swirling blue world below swung out of the cockpit's view, but New Melbourne's traffic control made one last transmission:

_Firefly_ Argus, _have a good journey to Oeneus. And walk soft, Captain. It's a tinderbox out there._

The reply came in Shepherd Book's gravelly voice. "We'll do what we can."

As soon as the comm connection was cut with a sharp snap of a switch, Kaylee swiveled the co-pilot's chair. She cut her eyes at the preacher and snorted. "_Captain._"

Wash glanced over his shoulder; Book stood in the center of _Serenity_'s small bridge with one hand still hanging from the comm controls. His head was tilted in thought and a small smile played on his lips. "The day I booked passage on this ship," he said, "I hadn't an inkling that I'd someday be the captain of it."

"Wasn't exactly part of the fare," Kaylee agreed with a grin.

Wash snapped on the autopilot and leaned back in his seat. "We have some strange rules for rank change around here," he muttered. The preacher's new title was meaningless, merely a part to be played during the ship's current crisis, but Wash couldn't resist playing up the bitterness of being passed over for promotion.

Book wasn't sympathetic to the pilot's disappointment. He reared back proudly and lifted his chin. "I like to think it has to do with my air of age and wisdom."

"Yeah, all that gray hair," Wash said, then he turned to Kaylee. "Is that it? Is that why I'm still a bottom-rung, opinion-never-heard pilot after all these years? Because my tresses are too youthful?"

He patted the straw-colored hair in question, but Kaylee's reply followed a different line. Her thoughts seemed to be tending toward something other than the men's petty power struggle. "It's more about Zoë bein' too busy to bother with runnin' the comm herself," she said absently, her eyes on the windows. "Wish I could be helpful to her, but mysterious powders that hurt people ain't something I know about. And I'm right glad I don't!"

"What's this?" Book asked with a look of concern. He'd been away from the bay when the ship's current cargo was delivered, busy helping the others prepare for their separate journey. Wash had told the Shepherd that Zoë was staying on the ship instead of Jayne, but he hadn't taken the time to explain why. He wasn't looking forward to the religious man's reaction, even if such a dirty job hadn't been taken by choice.

"I don't know much," Kaylee said. "Zoë came askin' me and Simon for any equipment that'd help her figure out what exactly it is we're carrying." At Book's deepening frown, she explained further. "I guess guns ain't good enough for Kamath. He's got something mixed into bags of rice flour, something to make folks sick is what I think, and Zoë does too. Simon got her started running tests, but then he had to run off with Inara to catch the ferry."

"I… see," Book said.

"I sure hope Zoë finds a way to make it not do whatever it's supposed to," Kaylee went on. "She's a smart lady, and saw all kinds of things in the war. Might be she can work something out to spoil Kamath's plans."

The bridge fell into silence while the captain (in name only) stood tapping his fingers against his leg. After a few thoughtful, frowning seconds, he nodded to Wash.

"Let me know if you need me. Otherwise, I believe I may be of service to Zoë."

Kaylee's mouth fell open as Book turned and left the bridge. She leaned toward Wash as soon as the preacher's footsteps faded. "Sometimes," she said in a hushed voice, "it scares me to think of the information livin' in our Shepherd's head."

Wash nodded his agreement. "But he is helpful."

"Sure is. Especially now. He'll make sure we don't deliver any kind of chem-bio-nasty-weapon. Can you imagine? Bein' part a' something like that? I don't think I'd be able to sleep for the rest of my life!" She sat back in her chair, drew her knees up, and stared out into the Black.

"Zoë seems to sleep all right," Wash murmured under his breath, wondering again how his wife had come across such expertise. He couldn't recall any stories of first-hand encounters with chemical weapons during the war, not the kind where she'd learn how to use them.

Thankfully, Kaylee didn't hear his words, and he was left to stew over the question of Zoë's experience on his own. Not that Kaylee seemed any more cheerfully engaged. But, after a few minutes, she sighed her frown and her dark thoughts away. "At least Book's havin' fun with the whole captain thing," she said with a renewed smile.

"It is apt," Wash admitted. "A good part for him. All that age and wisdom. And gray hair. Speaking of parts—what do you think of Simon being a married man?" He glanced sidelong at Kaylee, wondering if Simon's cover had set a jealousy bug scuttling through the love-struck young mechanic.

Kaylee only shrugged and smiled. "I think it's a good idea. Him and Inara look real nice together."

Wash raised a brow, a reaction that Kaylee noticed.

"What? It ain't real. Don't bug me none." She leaned back in her chair and put her feet up on the dark console. "`Sides, we all know that Inara's heart is full up…" She stopped there, as if giving a Wash a chance to argue. He wasn't about to; he preferred to avoid discussing the captain's love life.

"I just hope Simon's up to it," he said. "I know he's cute as a button and you think he's Mr. Good At Everything, but as far as acting…"

To his surprise, Kaylee nodded agreement. "Don't need to explain to me that words ain't his power suit. But Inara's got acting skills enough to cover for the both of `em. They'll be all right."

.*. .*. .*.

"Oh, look dear!" Simon said in a crooning voice that Inara had never heard pass his lips. "A T-Hed shuttle! Who'd have thought they had such a thing out here?"

"We're traveling on _that_?" Inara demanded shrilly. She frowned and imagined chewing on a sour cud. Her performance was aided by real life inspiration; the interplanetary ferry they were preparing to board was not much to look at. A jumble of tanks and pipes and blocky machinery jutted out of the water at the end of a long pier, as if a set of enormous building blocks had been piled together on a raft by a giant, unruly child, then abandoned to the mercy of the elements.

"Now, now, my… um, my sweet," Simon replied with an awkward pat of Inara's gloved hand. She'd managed to cobble together a decent enough travel suit from one of River's skirts and a top and loose jacket she'd found in the back of Kaylee's closet, all painstakingly cleaned, then pressed against the heat of a convenient panel in the engine room. She thought she looked tidy enough to pass for an adventurous escapee from the Core, as long as no one actually from the Core saw her.

"Most of the ship—the better part—is under water right now," Simon continued to explain. "All _that_ is just the engine, which sits on top."

Inara knew as much. She'd traveled on this model of ferry before, but she was enjoying playing her role as an ignorant and overly pampered wife. "That makes no sense at all! Why would anyone park a spacecraft under water? I just don't see the use of it. Besides, it must make the ship so very dirty. I hope it doesn't smell. I've had quite enough of a few particular odors on this world. My poor stomach is a wreck. I think one could do a service to these worlds by sending a chef out to teach the proper preparation of tilapia. I mean, what good is a fresh catch if you don't bother to season it properly?"

"Tickets, please?" a porter asked as they reached the gated entrance to the pier. The man cast Inara a quick disparaging look, then Simon a nod of pity, but made no attempt to interrupt her chatter.

"You did reserve us a private cabin, didn't you dear?" she crooned as her "husband" set down their bags and handed over their boarding passes. "It will be refreshing to have a moment to ourselves. I don't know why I let you talk me into this. 'It'll be an adventure,' you told me. 'Roughing it is romantic,' you said. Romance is fine, but if I had known the extent of this _roughing it_ plan I might not have let you convince me. Imagine, a vacation where one has to carry their own bags!"

Inara noted with some amusement that both Simon and the ticket taker glanced at the pair of suitcases Simon had been carrying. One, a tasteful black bag, was compact and easily handled, but the other, green with a garish floral print, was huge and full to nearly bursting. Inara almost smirked; she should have Jayne do her shopping more often. The results were quite amusing.

"Travelin' light, then?" the man asked Simon.

"As always," Simon replied wryly.

"I don't know how I'll manage," Inara said. "Hardly a thing can be fit in just one bag. I'll have to dine in my travel clothes, I suppose. I would die to be seen doing such a thing on Sihnon."

"We're not on Sihnon, dear," Simon interjected in a patient, sighing voice as he handed their luggage over to the porter. The bags were set on a belt to enter a scanner—a very large and shiny scanner, Inara noted. Apparently brand new, and much higher tech than anything else on these docks. But she wasn't about to ask about it; that wouldn't be in character. She'd have to leave the information gathering to Jayne's group.

"Clearly we're not!" Inara went on, not missing a beat. "No one will believe we've actually come out to the Border worlds and survived unscathed. The girls at the club will positively swoon when I tell them all we've been through."

She had to pause to inhale, and the porter took the chance to interrupt. He was holding a pair of silver metallic globes: key-passes to their cabin. But he didn't hand them over. "Ma'am, sir, speaking of that, I'm required to tell you about a travel advisory for Oeneus. Political ruckus and such. Your personal safety can't be assured."

Inara didn't have to fake a surprised widening of her eyes. "Oh dear," she said, and she looked to Simon.

"Don't be worried," Simon told her. "I'm sure it's just one of those things the travel companies have to say to protect themselves from law suits, like the warnings that là jiāo is hot."

The man shook his head. "Actually sir, bad things've been happening out there, and you might reconsider this leg of your trip. We're offering full refunds on Oeneus travel, even at the last minute."

"Oh, but…" Inara stuttered. She found herself genuinely tongue-tied. They had to get on that ferry, but also had to play their parts. Right now, the most likely thing for her character to do was to panic and run.

Luckily, Simon had his wits about him. "Nonsense!" he said as he snatched the cabin keys from the porter and slipped them in his pocket. "I've heard so many good things about Oeneus, and I've been looking forward to seeing it for quite some time. I won't have some… some… rabble of malcontents interrupt our vacation plans!" He took Inara by the elbow and guided her to the end of the scanner. With short, impatient motions, he lifted her bulky suitcase in one hand, tucked his small bag under the same elbow, and used his free hand to steer his "wife" down the pier.

After a time, Inara glanced over her shoulder, checking that they'd gotten some distance from the gate, then leaned into Simon to whisper, "That was smoothly done."

He smiled and released her arm so he could redistribute the bags more evenly. "Did I actually do anything? You pretty much carried that scene on your own."

"Was I too much?"

"Not at all. Just the right mix of charming and annoying."

"You know I do complain, darling," Inara said, reverting to her higher pitched "wife" voice, "but that's just my way of coping. Once back on Sihnon I'll do nothing but brag of the wonderful, romantic adventure my dear husband treated me to."

Simon's grin grew. "And your friends will be wildly jealous and I'll have affairs with every single one."

"You monster!" Inara exclaimed as she lightly slapped his arm, then she lowered her voice again. "But seriously, Simon. That was quick thinking. It's very odd, that they're warning tourists away. It's as if they don't want us to visit Oeneus."

"It makes me wonder what we're walking into."

Inara met his eye and nodded, and then all real conversation had to end. They were nearing the entry to the ship, where the thin stream of embarking passengers thickened into a queue.

.*. .*. .*.

"Sir, I have to tell you about the situation on Oeneus." The porter's voice was flat, as if he'd said these words so many times that he wasn't hearing them anymore.

Jayne frowned. "Whatssat?"

The man went on dully. "A political mess on Oeneus. It's picked up in the past months and your safety can't be assured. Travel to that world is at your own risk."

Jayne knew better than to fall for such a line. "I ain't worried," he said. He jabbed a thumb at his travel companions, first Malcolm, then River. "My brother here can hold his own, and my, uh… my kid's got us two looking out for her."

River's mouth pursed, and Malcolm scoffed audibly. Jayne tried to ignore them and look fatherly, but he needn't have wasted his time. The porter was barely paying attention to them. He only shrugged, handed over their room keys, and nodded them past. They paused to pick up their luggage from the back end of a security scanner: each had a small shoulder bag holding toiletries and a change of clothes. It wasn't only to play the part; the ferry wasn't the fastest means of travel. It would take two full days to reach Oeneus.

As they left the entry gate, Malcolm asked in a voice full of irony, "So I'm your brother and she's your daughter?"

"Hush!" Jayne ordered.

Malcolm grinned at River. "Guess that makes me Uncle Malcolm. Uncle Mal?"

River looked horrified at the idea. "Ew!"

"You both keep quiet," Jayne said with a huff. "Don't make me say it again. If I'm dad, and if I'm big brother, I'm the kind ain't worried about using a switch and a fist. Got it?" He held up a clenched hand to make his meaning fully clear.

River and Malcolm shared a look and an eyeroll, but quieted down as they strolled down the pier toward the ship, giving Jayne a moment to eyeball their ride. The visible part of the ferry had one flat face: a weathered metal hull a good twenty meters across that rose only a few meters above the water. A jumble of machinery piled above it; a wild jumble of pipes ran over and in between large round tanks and blocky vents that leaked thin wisps of steam as the engines warmed for flight.

A small line had formed where a walkway extended across the green, foamy water to an open hatch. Just before he joined the waiting passengers, Jayne caught a whisper behind him, "I ain't nowhere near old enough to be _his_ brother."

River's reply was careful. "You look… older than you are."

Jayne turned to glare at them.

"Come on," Malcolm complained to Jayne, his voice still low. "It'd be weird for kin to travel together without ever talkin'."

"Depends on the kin," Jayne replied pointedly.

"I think we should be the friendly type," River said, and she smiled at Malcolm. "What should we talk about?"

"How about _that_." Malcolm nodded up and to the side. Large engines were mounted on each of the four corners of the ship, though only two were visible now. They towered up on either side of the line of passengers, business end pointed down. "Like to be quite a sight when those fire," Malcolm added. "Also like to burn up the dock and anyone on it."

"Not a problem," River explained. "They'll tow us out to open sea before we launch."

"Kind of a pain, huh?"

"Easier than building a landing platform to withstand the engine heat. Hot, rolled steel, even with the best insulation, loses strength at one thousand degrees Kelvin. Fifty percent room temperature yield strength. No—sixty percent. The newest grade, powder metallurgy and heat treating, does better. Ultimate tensile strength of over 800 Newtons per meter squared. Brinell hardness number 203. But repeated exposure to engine burn is always a problem. Can't solve that one, unless you avoid it altogether."

Both Jayne and Malcolm frowned down at the girl while she lectured. "How you know all this?" Malcolm asked when she paused for breath.

"My father worked for an engineering firm." She glanced at Jayne, then she crooked a finger at Malcolm. He leaned down and she whispered, loud enough that Jayne heard, "My other father."

Malcolm smirked. "Obviously."

"So, anyhow, …"

As they stepped onto the gangway, Jayne noticed other passengers starting to eye River, so he reached out a toe and jabbed her in the calf. She turned to look at him, and he let his expression carry the rest of his message.

River sighed. She didn't shut up, but at least changed the subject. She guided herself with one hand on the railing so she could keep looking back at Malcolm while she spoke. "Besides all that, it's pretty."

"Pretty?"

"The T-Hed." She patted a hand on the ugly weathered hull beside the open hatch before she stepped in. "You'll see. That's why I love the T-Hed. You can _see_ everything."

Malcolm shrugged his lack of understanding at Jayne, then followed the girl into the dark corridor.

.*. .*. .*.

"Are you sure about your destination, sir? Ma'am?"

The porter looked from one passenger to the other, and Ginger had to fight the urge to shift her weight side to side nervously. She only nodded, but Will sneered at the man's sudden change in manner.

The sight of the tickets had done its work. The man's blasé attitude had turned inside out as soon as he saw the words printed across the stubs: _Penthouse Suite._

"Don't waste our time with travel warnings," Will said shortly. "We're going to Oeneus, and we're going now. My lady here has business." Ginger's stomach sank as his lip curled more, a sure sign of mischief in his head. "She's something of a celebrity, you know."

The porter gave Ginger a questioning look. She stood as tall as she could, hoping that her black clothes, newly darkened hair, and thickly applied eye makeup did at least a little to uphold the lie. But then, what spoke more of one's place in the verse than one's attitude?

"Don't be frownin' your doubt on me," she told the man, her firm voice startling a look out of Will. "I got folks a'plenty waiting to see me in person. Tickets were sold. Every damned one bought up." She met Will's eye and was pleased to see appreciation in his crooked smile.

The porter swallowed hard. "Uh… I'm sure… I'm sure you're the toast of Oeneus ma'am." He turned and waved at someone in the distance, someone off the side of the pier. "Course, you folks don't need to be messing with any of this line while you board. I got a shuttle that'll take you to a separate entrance and you'll get to your Suite directly."

"I appreciate that," Will said. "Spare the hassle of folks wantin' the take a capture or get a signatory of this lady's famous name on their ticket stub."

"I do hate to get caught up with that mess," Ginger said with a sigh. She couldn't but feel a thrill at Will's stealthy wink, though she tamped it down and gave him nothing but a frown in response. This was what it'd been like once, the two of them acting like one, thinking like their brains had a higher level of communication, making fools of the ignorant folk around them. They'd been quite a team, once upon a time.

"We'll spare you all discomfort, Miss… uh, Miss. You just enjoy your journey." The porter left it at that and got busy moving their bags.

A skinny local kid ran the power boat that took them to a service entrance on the far side of the ferry. He stayed back on the stern, running the engine, which left Will and Ginger free to converse.

"What do you suppose that ticket man is imagining about me right now?" Ginger asked.

Will looked her up and down, then his lip quirked. "Lion tamer."

She couldn't help but to laugh right out loud. "If there's a kind of celebrity I could earn," she said, "that would be the one."

Will chuckled to himself, then turned his crafty eyes on the ferry they were about to board, his thoughts planning out the mission ahead, maybe.

It gave Ginger a warm feeling, this pretending that all was right, that she and Will were just how they used to be. It was like warming her toes beside a fire when a harsh winter freeze waited just outside a door she knew she had to pass through.

.*. .*. .*.

Once across the walkway, the boarding passengers passed through a corridor directly into the center of the ship. Impatient, River led them past the line for the lifts and descended a curving staircase to emerge in the top passenger level of the ferry. Level 1 was all one large space, except for a wide central column containing lifts and staircases as well as lavatories and snack machines.

Rows of low-backed booths lined the outside of the room; most of these tables were already claimed, and many a child had his or her nose pasted to the outer wall—for good reason. The level of the ferry currently above water was the only part of the hull made of solid metal; every other vertical outer surface was fully transparent. From floor to ceiling, soft blue-green sunlight filtered through the water outside, and the shadows of fish and jellies could be seen passing by.

Malcolm stared at the windows with an open mouth, but Jayne didn't have much of an eye for it. He stood in the center of the room and squinted at the ticket stubs in his hand, trying to make sense of his destination, until River snatched them away.

"Level four, cabin fifteen," she said, and she pointed to a sign next to the stairs they'd just descended. "Further down."

"`Course," Jayne huffed, but she was already moving on, again passing the busy elevators to lead her "menfolk" down the next flight of stairs. Level 2 was similar to Level 1: steerage with plain booths and amenities in the center column, but this room was noticeably smaller than the one above, and the light coming in the outer walls was a deeper blue-green.

Another level down, Level 3 was smaller still. It was mostly cafeteria and dining tables, and behind a eating bar workers were busy finishing preparations for the trip. One corner of the level was walled off with waist-high clear plexiglass; inside was a gaming area which was being put to use by several enthusiastic children. It was a noisy place.

Jayne had barely taken in the scenery before he felt his hackles rise. He knew the feeling—he was being watched.

He took a careful look about the space and soon found the culprit: Simon sitting at a table halfway across the room, staring at the new arrivals intently. No doubt, the doc just had to make sure his precious little sister was safely aboard. He wasn't being especially discreet about it.

River either didn't see Simon or kept her head enough to ignore him. She went straight to the crew member standing at the curve of the central staircase, blocking the entrance to the private cabins on Level 4. While she presented their tickets, Jayne traded a short nod with Simon, letting the doctor know that all was well.

The porter waved the "family" of three by, and they descended to a quiet hallway lined with doors. Jayne didn't bother to search: River was guiding them without hesitation. "Home!" she declared when she found the cabin marked #15. She'd already claimed her own key, and soon had the door open.

Jayne wasn't impressed with what was inside. It was a small room with two banks of seats facing each other, each just long enough to serve as a bed if a full-grown man curled himself up tight enough. Above the seats were two more bunks that would fold down. It looked much like an average train cabin, except that the far wall was window from floor to ceiling. But that wasn't much to look at; there wasn't light enough to show much but a dark green murk.

"No sunshine down here," River said with a sigh, then she got busy settling in. She stowed her bag overhead, claimed a window seat, and reached down to tug at a handle in the floor. A rectangular panel lifted, but stuck at ankle height. Malcolm leaned in to offer a helping hand, and with a screech the table freed itself from its dock. It clicked into place at waist level, taking up half the cabin but giving River a place to rest her elbows.

"Brought cards?" she asked Malcolm.

He shook his head. "Wish I had. Guess we'll have to find something else to do."

Jayne didn't like the sound of that. He folded his arms and stared down at the pair while he spoke firmly. "Forget it and settle in. We got two days on a small ship with a whole passel a' strangers, and I won't be having a single one of them passengers recalling either of you. You won't be doing a thing that might call attention."

River threw herself back in her seat dramatically. "Out to kill us with boredom, aren't you?"

Jayne didn't give a bit. "I aim to have you bored. You let it kill you, that's your business."

Malcolm kept his focus on the girl, completely ignoring Jayne. "What's he gonna do?" the ex-captain asked in a low voice. "Shoot us?" He fixed his eyes on her thoughtfully and chewed his lower lip; whatever he was thinking, River caught the gist of it. The girl's face slowly broke into a grin, then without warning both of them jumped up.

Jayne couldn't decide which he ought to catch hold of, and as a result he missed them both. They made it out the cabin door before he could block it.

"Gorammit!" he swore, and he set out after them.

.*. .*. .*.

Translations:

là jiāo : chili peppers


	11. Chapter 11

**Back Stories Book III**

_The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money._

_Thank you to desertgirl for the beta read._

**Chapter 11**

**

* * *

**

Inara'd splurged on the cabin she'd be sharing with Simon. Her own money was funding this venture, after all, so she took it as her right to reserve a corner room. It was slightly larger than the other first class cabins, had its own head, and two full walls and even a portion of the floor in the outside corner were transparent. While docked at the pier, little but dark green shadows showed through this depth of water, but the view would be spectacular while the ship moved through the atmosphere and the Black.

Not quite as good as the scenery from the Penthouse Suite that took up the whole level below them—this Inara knew, for she'd traveled in the lowest but best quarters of a T-Hed ferry more than once while on pleasure cruises in the Core. The Suite had been available when she bought her tickets, but such an extravagance was unnecessary, and perhaps even dangerous. It would draw attention that _Serenity_'s crew did not need.

Anyhow, Inara wasn't concerned with the view. She had only one goal in mind: a long nap. She'd been up the entire night before, and planned to spend the first day of this ferry ride doing little more than sleeping.

As soon as they'd boarded, Simon had helped her fold down the double bed from one of the interior bulkheads, though he'd placed his bag on the long bench on the other wall, making it clear that he was the kind of gentleman to take the sofa, so to speak. And then he'd disappeared, off to watch for his sister's arrival. Inara meant to make use of the quiet time. She changed into a comfortable top and pants—not her usual silk, since she'd brought little clothing with her from the Core. She'd borrowed several items from Kaylee, including cotton pajamas that were loose and soft. Inara was stretched on the bed by the time the ferry began to gently sway as it was towed into open waters, but there her plan failed. Although the mattress was comfortable and the blankets clean, her thoughts would not let her rest.

Ever since her talk with Malcolm in _Serenity_'s galley, a painful discomfort had been slinking about the back of her mind, trying to take over her thoughts whenever she found herself alone and unoccupied. She'd managed to keep busy, to avoid dwelling on the matter, but now, with two empty days of travel before her, she had nowhere to hide. Malcolm's words would no longer be ignored.

_Ain't no person a bottomless well. Ain't no one got so much that they can give and give without a fair return. _

She had to ask herself: Could that be a fair representation of a Companion's life? She had vehemently disagreed at first, but now, when the sting of the idea had faded, she had to admit that Malcolm had a point. The service she provided to her clients required an expenditure of emotional energy unequal to any return of money.

But there was no dishonesty in the exchange. Inara had entered her life with no delusions.

_They'll take what you give until they leave you dried up and empty, till you got nothing left, and you ain't but a hard shell. I'd hate to see that happen to you, Miss Serra. I'd hate to see you come to that._

Tears suddenly welled in her eyes. He might not have meant to make an accusation, but that was how his words had felt. And her arguments against it were growing weak. The proof was in her own actions: she'd left Mal. She'd found love, recognized it, seen it returned, and yet had chosen to turn her back. What could that be but a heart turning hollow and cold?

_That ain't a way to live life: alone in the world, beyond all reach. Hollowed out. Empty. Barren._

Barren, indeed. How had the damned man seen her so clearly, when he didn't even know himself?

The latch on the cabin's door clicked as a keypass unlocked it, and Inara quickly dabbed her eyes with the corner of the blanket.

"Are they on board?," she asked in an even voice.

"Yes." She couldn't see Simon's face in the dark, but she could hear a smile in his tone. "Jayne looks completely annoyed with the whole thing, but I think River's enjoying herself. She and Malcolm came back out to the public space and settled into the game room."

He started digging through his bag, and Inara reached out to click on her bedside light. "It's all right," she said to head off his protest. "I find that I'm nowhere near sleep after all."

"A lot on your mind?"

"You could say that."

She sat up, the blanket tucked around her folded arms, while Simon stepped into the head to change. By the time he came out, the ship's engines were beginning to fire. A gentle vibration grew in the cabin wall and the water outside the window turned milky gray with a churning of fine bubbles.

"I hope she holds together," Simon said as he returned, now in a sweatshirt and loose trousers. "The ship, I mean."

Inara smiled; she knew what he meant. The same question had occurred to her while they boarded.

"I'm surprised they have one of these out here," he continued. He settled on his narrow bunk and fiddled with a large worn spot on the back of it, where cream-colored stuffing showed through a tear in the dark blue upholstery. "It's not as well kept up as it would be in the Core. Did you notice?"

Inara nodded. This whole ship had seen better days. The stairs they'd descended from the upper levels held the marks and dents of many years' heavy use, and faded stains marred nearly every surface. "But I don't mind," she replied. "It's nice to encounter something familiar out here, even if it's a bit worn."

"Yes, it is nice," Simon agreed, and they fell silent while they watched the lift-off. The dark, swirling water was suddenly cut by the clean sunlight of a fair morning. For a few blinding seconds, the view was filled with sharp, golden shards of light broken by water pouring off the wider levels of the ship above, then the flow settled to a glinting trickle and they could make out the green-blue of the ocean receding below them.

"Do you miss it?" Inara asked.

Simon was silent for long enough that she thought he hadn't followed her shift in topic, but eventually a soft exhale showed that he had. "Some things I do miss. I miss being comfortable. I mean, not just as in physically, but as in having a place. Knowing what I'm supposed to do."

Inara nodded her understanding.

"But whenever I start missing it too much I just have to remind myself that it was all a lie. My family, friends, the hospital… None of it was really my home, or they'd have helped me. They'd have helped River."

"For me, it _was_ home," Inara said softly. "The House was every bit my home, and they helped me as much as they could. The Guild is wonderful."

"Will you go back?"

"No," she replied, surprising herself with her lack of hesitation, but she found that she was sure of this now. "No. It's not my home anymore."

Simon shifted. She felt him studying her, but kept her eyes fastened on the bright azure and sapphire of the ocean and sky.

"Do you mind if I ask…" Simon ventured tentatively, "what changed?"

She sighed, feeling that her whole body had grown heavy with weariness. "Everything."

Simon didn't ask for further explanation; he probably thought he knew her meaning, the reason for the change. After all, the whole crew must be aware of her situation with the captain, and Simon, for all his awkwardness with Kaylee, wasn't the kind of man to deny the power of love.

But the doctor was wrong. The reality of her past life was so much uglier than he could possibly guess.

.*. .*. .*.

The sea outside the game room window grew wider as the ship rose, until the curve of the world could be made out, until the far end of the ocean appeared, hills and fields still shadowed in night, highlands faintly lit by morning sunlight bending through the atmosphere. The mountains rising above the distant continent shrank from steep peaks to flat blotches of pre-sunrise blue-violet as the ferry took a curved path over the unknown land. In black valleys between the peaks, clusters of golden light shone from settlements on riverbanks, and single lights were scattered lonely and small in the wide, empty fields between.

"What is life like, down there?" River asked the fully windowed hull that pressed against her forehead and palms. She wasn't expecting an answer, but she got one.

"Might be 'lot like home," Malcolm said. River glanced at him; he stood in a similar pose, his hands on the glass, his eyes on the land below. His face was lit with a warmer smile than she had ever seen on _Serenity_'s captain. "The hands'd be getting up about now, settin' to put out the morning's feed, bring in the first of the day's milk and eggs. Ma'll come out as soon as the cock crows to see about the new calves, and she'll find Reg making a fuss 'bout the boys who were up late last night and are slow to get movin'."

River liked how he spoke of his home. She wanted to hear more. "Do you miss it?"

He turned to meet her eye and nodded. His smile didn't fade, though his voice was thoughtful and sad. "There's a peace to workin' the land, carin' for livestock. Ma came out from the Core. She had stories to tell. Did make me curious to see what life would be like in civilized places, but not enough to want to go. She spoke of the bad along with the good." He turned back to the world beneath the ferry. "I don't think anything can equal the freedom of the ranch."

_The freedom of the ranch._ The freedom of a life completely outside anything River had ever experienced. Somehow, she felt herself lacking, that she didn't know such a way of life. And, likely, she never would.

"It must be hard work," she said wistfully.

"That it is."

Her voice grew firmer. "I know how to work hard."

He turned back to her, an eyebrow raised. "Do ya now?"

"I worked very hard at the Academy."

His smile took on a knowing edge. "Schooling's a different kind of work. And don't look at me like that, miss. I know your studies must have been a challenge in their own way. Ma saw to it I got educated, me and all the other young ones about. We had to gather whenever and wherever we found a body with the know-how to teach us, but we got to it plenty. It was hard work in its way, but wasn't nothing like the running of the ranch."

"The Academy wasn't a regular school," River said defensively, and she looked back out the window. The ship had moved on and the dark valley full of homesteads awaiting sunrise was now just a speck on the edge of a large continent. "It was _hard_."

She felt him studying her face for a long moment before he replied. "I stand corrected, no doubt." His tone held no irony or disrespect. "An Academy of the Core must be a very different place from the bare rooms where I had schooling. I can't say as I know how it was for you. Didn't mean to play it down."

River could only nod. His empathy made memories rise to the surface of her mind, and tears filled her eyes. She didn't trust herself to look at him.

"You miss it," he said.

She had to smile at the severity of his misunderstanding. "You really don't remember a thing, do you?"

Malcolm didn't reply right away. It wasn't until New Melbourne's atmosphere had thinned enough that a scattering of stars could shine through the dark blue glow that he finally spoke up.

"I do suspect that… that it ain't all so simple as it seemed at first. I may have forgot more than I can guess. That may be a kind of remembering, if you follow me, just that I know there's a gap. I couldn't feel it before, but…"

River felt him looking at her, as if he hoped she would explain. She could, if she chose to.

"It's a big gap," Malcolm went on, his voice quiet. "It wasn't just Ma sending me out to get a doctor, and trusting me to the care of this Zoë Washburn. There's more that happened, I know it. A whole lot more. I can feel the weight of it, like a wave about to crash down on me." He shook his head and his shoulders hunched just a little, as if he truly feared a blow.

River had to lean against the glass, to hold herself still. She felt the turmoil and anguish of his mind and wanted to reach out to him, but this wasn't the time. Nor was it the time for sharing the truth. "I'm not allowed to tell you," she said. "I'm sorry."

He exhaled softly, half laughing. "That's all right. I'm not sure I wanna know."

"It's better out here anyway," River said firmly, hoping to turn his attention to the beauty before them. Stars now shone bright and too numerous to count, like strands of diamonds piled on top of each other until the neat, symmetric patterns of each necklace could only be guessed at. "You can be happy. I am. I like traveling, seeing new places. I like seeing the Black. I'm glad Simon brought me here."

"Here?"

"To live between the worlds. On _Serenity_."

His voice grew warm. "If you like it, I guess it can't be so bad."

She smiled. He'd shared a secret and she'd comforted him, just by listening. The bond between her soul and his was growing stronger. She'd known that it would, given the chance. Now she had two full days to solidify the connection.

She looked over her shoulder at the game room behind them; they weren't alone. Jayne had followed them out to the common space, and though he sat at a distance, his smoldering presence spoke volumes. He wouldn't be leaving them alone during this trip.

River sighed; she would have to work within those bounds.

"More?" she asked Malcolm. He followed her nod to a pair of machines. The games held holo-images of long lanes with a variety of targets projected at the end. A ball connected by a security wire to the machine could be swung, the path of the ball tracked to the targets, a score recorded.

River was very good at this game.

"This time, I'm gonna clean up," Malcolm said, challenging.

"You can keep trying," she replied sweetly.

.*. .*. .*.

The Penthouse Suite was not made for those with weak stomachs. Sure, a twist of a dial could have that fancy transparent outer hull darkening until it looked like any other bulkhead, solid and black and featureless. But, Ginger asked herself, why would anyone do that?

She lay on her stomach across the bed, her head over the side so she could watch the globe of New Melbourne shrink beneath the clear deck. When the details of sea and land and cloud grew too blurred to hold her interest, she rolled to her side and stared across the Suite at a universe with no visible boundaries of walls or floor, an endless space where two puffy chairs and small side table floated against the distant scattering of stars.

Will's long legs stretched out from one of the chairs, his limbs blocking several scores of suns and their orbiting worlds from view. But he wasn't interested in any of them; his eyes stared blankly up at the dark ceiling, his mind busy with some important matter or another. She could probably guess, but wasn't feeling too keen about spending time in Will's mind. She'd seen all she needed of the way things worked in there, and even if their teamwork while boarding this ferry might have reminded her of a happier past, she wasn't near stupid enough to believe that she could return to it.

No, she knew this man well, and she knew that she was done with him. She knew it because she wasn't afraid of him anymore. Not even the prospect of two days alone in this Suite with him, unarmed as she was, scared her. From the moment she watched Reynolds walk down the pier and enter the ferry, she'd known that the hours of her service to this military, and to this partner, were counting down. Will could play friend or bully to his heart's content; none of it could touch her now.

As if he knew that her eyes and her mind were on him, he began to talk, spilling his thoughts in a rambling way. As was his habit, he shared the plan without expecting, or even allowing, any input from her.

"That worked fine," he said. "Only meant to make a joke, but it worked fine. Minor celebrities, circus stars, rodeo heroes, leads in some Rim world theater show, whatever it is they think we are. You are. We want to stay private is the point, and that'll make plenty of sense to them now.

"And that's what we'll be. Private. Quiet and keep to ourselves. They'll bring us what we need, we'll stay in and give big tips, and all will stay quiet.

"Patience is what we've got. Can't move too early. They only put five on board, and that means their ship—and that soldier woman—are out there, somewhere. Might have stayed back, but might have gone ahead. We can't let them know about us till the last minute. We can't give that woman time to arrange a sortie. An hour or two before landing, that's when we move.

"That's when we get this done. Sneaky and quiet, while other folks are still sleeping. We take these five out, one by one. Truss `em up and leave them here, except for our man. We'll walk onto the pier on Oeneus, Malcolm Reynolds in hand and this hunt over for good. Marone'll be off my back, mission accomplished, hardship pay in the bank. That's a plan I can follow with a smile.

"You with me, Ginger?"

It took her a moment to realize that he'd asked her a question, and was waiting for a reply. Was he actually in doubt of the answer? Should he be?

She made him wait longer while she considered it. Tactically, things looked good. It may be two against five, but the two had surprise to their advantage, and the five included a little girl, a crazy man, and a doctor who, Will's bent nose aside, didn't count for much in a fight. The challenge—for Ginger—was the other two: the mercenary with hands that haunted her dreams, and the high class whore whose toughness and feminine power demanded respect.

"You with me, Ginger?"

Will lifted his head to study her, but she closed her eyes, and immediately saw her true goal: a home of her own, a quiet place removed from these kinds of choices, far from Will, from orders, from human targets and wars that never ended. The only way to reach that place, to be free, was to do her job.

"Are you with me, Ginger?"

Her reply came in a flat, resigned voice. "I'm with you, Will."


	12. Chapter 12

**Back Stories Book III**

_The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money._

**Chapter 12**

**

* * *

**

Jayne sat up, suddenly awake and unsettled in a way he wasn't used to. It wasn't the being in a strange place that got to him—he was an old hand at that type of disorientation. After a moment he realized that it was the view that turned his stomach. He didn't often have his dreams melt away and leave him in the realm of the Black, a far stranger place than any his sleeping mind brought him to.

"Behind glass," he told himself in rough whisper as he remembered his lodgings. Actually, the scattering of stars and smeared wisps of dust had to be separated from him by a sheet of something much stronger than glass. It had held the air in and the emptiness out for all the years this ferry had been in service. Surely it could be trusted for a bit longer.

Jayne kicked his legs over the side of the bed—a generous word for the thing he'd been sleeping on, considering it wasn't anything more than a row of padded seats—and rubbed his face. Then he remembered something more and sat up straight, alarmed. But he needn't have worried that anyone saw his less than ferocious awakening; none of his bunkmates were here. Malcolm's shimmery sleeping cap, the ridiculous brain-function machine Simon had come up with as the best way to heal the captain's broken mind, was left abandoned on the bunk on the other side of the cabin. River's bed was still folded down from the bulkhead above, her blankets all a'muss.

Jayne's relief at finding himself alone was short-lived. He quickly realized that the two had taken some care to slip out quietly while he slept.

"Damn them," he murmured to himself. He'd managed to keep them in his sights for the agonizingly slow day and a half of this journey that had so far passed. Landing was only a small handful of hours away. But he wasn't going to slack off now; trouble wouldn't be coming on any of his crew unawares, not while Jayne was on watch. His task was to oversee a couple of damned fools, and he meant to do it. He'd do it right this time.

He flicked on a light and pulled on a shirt, then a worry in his gut had him taking a minute to dig into his bag and rip open a flap he'd sewed over his smuggled contraband. Just a gun. Not a very big one, but she was plenty worthy of admiration and respect.

"Fortune smiled on me for sure, little lady," he told the sleek silver pistol, "to put you right in my path." In the hand of a dead man maybe, but the man had been shot down, clean through the forehead, while trying to take _Serenity_ from Mal. The weapon, now christened Sheila, rightly belonged to Mal's crew. She'd ensure the safety of the captain when he wasn't capable of taking proper care of himself.

It was as if she'd been made for this job. "Not a single security scanner in the 'verse would see you, hon," Jayne added as he loaded the pistol. "Aim like a dream and you'll break skin and bone easy enough, though your ammo won't come close to piercing this hull. Not even them fancy windows. Yeah, I'll make use of you if I have even half a need." With a final caress he tucked Sheila in his belt, then threw on a jacket to hide her. With that, he went out to find his lost lambs.

.*. .*. .*.

When she awoke, Inara didn't rise immediately, but lay still, the warm blankets tight about her. She tilted her head to study Simon's sleeping form for a moment before her eyes settled on the starfield outside their cabin.

As a blessing, her thoughts didn't dwell on the subjects she'd been having such a difficult time avoiding lately. Perhaps the hours she'd spent talking to Simon, rehashing their good memories of the Core, places they'd visited before both of their lives turned dark, had brought about this peace of mind. She was grateful for it. And perhaps his presence, so quiet and calm, accounted for the many hours of deep sleep she'd just enjoyed.

Relaxed, she let her thoughts drift with the stars outside until she realized that her stomach was as empty as her mind. That wouldn't do.

Her hunger, as well as her attempt to not wake Simon, made for a quick shower and minimal toilette. She pulled on the same clothes she'd worn while boarding and coiled her wet hair into a bun held in place by short wooden chopsticks, then slipped out of the cabin and climbed the stairs to the ferry's dining level. Her unsettled feelings returned as soon as she entered the room; according to New Melbourne local time, it was late night, and most passengers were fast asleep. Only one table had its reading lights on, only one pair voices floated across the room with shared laughter, oblivious to the silence around them. Malcolm and River.

Inara lowered her eyes, recalling that she wasn't supposed to know them. Nor was she supposed to be acquainted with the large man sitting at the dining bar. But, as their trip was nearing its end, she wanted to talk to him about their plans on landing.

She took a seat with one empty place between herself and Jayne. He gave her a long look, so she smiled and reached out a hand.

"Inara," she said.

Jayne stared at her hand for a second, then grunted, as if to say: _all right, I'll play_.

"Jayne." He shook. "Buy you a drink, ma'am?"

"Thank you, but I just woke. I'm needing something solid." She waved at a waiter who was hovering by a side door and ordered a bowl of hot cereal grains. This served to get them a few minutes of privacy while the man took her order to the kitchen.

"Any news?" she asked Jayne, her voice low.

He was quick with a reply, delivered in a harsh whisper. "Them two are gonna drive me batty. Next time, I wanna be the one workin' with the terrorist chems. Zoë can handle this gorramned part."

Inara looked toward the pair on the far edge of the central dining area; they still seemed unaware that they were the only animated people on this level of the ship. She had to mask her own irritation with a smile.

"But you do such a wonderful job, Jayne," she replied sweetly. His glare told her that he didn't buy into that at all. "But what I meant to ask was, do you have any news about our landing?"

"Nah. Had a talk with the ferry captain a few hours after we took off, ain't seen him since. He's Kamath's man all right. Just as uptight and twice as nettlin'. But he says we got off clear, ain't no sniffs from authorities, no ships following."

"That's good to know."

"As for the landing on Oeneus, we're getting close to that time. I got to check in with the captain again. Want to be sure there's no greeting party before we walk off."

"Do you think that's a danger?"

"Don't seem likely, but my job ain't to decide what's likely. My job's to be ready for whatever comes."

Inara nodded, comforted by how seriously he was taking their situation. She supposed that being surprised by Will in the bar on Highgate had gotten to the mercenary. He seemed determined to make up for his mistake.

"I'm glad you happened by, is my point," Jayne went on. "I can't leave these two alone with it all dark and quiet like this. If you wouldn't mind…" He nodded toward the pair across the room.

"Of course. I'll keep an eye on them."

Her breakfast arrived just as Jayne left, and she had nothing to do while she ate but listen to the occasional snippets of Malcolm and River's conversation that carried across the room. It disturbed her. They were acting exactly like teenagers on a date: either laughing or leaning their heads together to share quiet secrets.

.*. .*. .*.

"I don't know why we need to be watched," River complained in a whisper. "We're only playing dominos."

They hadn't intended any activity so slow-paced when they snuck out of the cabin, leaving Jayne snoring into his pillow, but they hadn't found much else to do. Despite a thorough exploration of the ferry, they'd found only one cost-free option for staving off boredom: a cabinet of battered games in the game room.

The domino game hadn't lasted long. River found that she wasn't as interested in competition as she usually was. Winning didn't carry much satisfaction, and she knew exactly why: she just couldn't enjoy winning if it meant that Malcolm had to lose. Rather than letting him win, an option she also couldn't accept, she preferred to use the dominoes as building blocks while they talked. It gave her hands, and that distracting part of her mind that wouldn't be still, something to do.

She had a good structure going. She'd used most of the blocks from the two domino sets they'd found in the cabinet, so only a few of the little black rectangles were left free for Malcolm to stack. He'd precariously balanced a handful of them, smallest end against smallest end, to make a thin tower. It was well done, but nothing to the intricate pattern she'd constructed. Her creation was only two dimensional, lying flat on the table, but it took nearly all the available space.

"Snowflake?" Malcolm asked.

"Dendrimer," River replied as she checked over the molecule's structure. "Every monomer unit is branched. Reduce intermolecular chain entanglement and crystallization."

He studied her work for a long moment before he grunted out a thoughtful: "Hunh."

She finished her check—all correct—then eyed Malcolm's domino column. There weren't enough blocks in it to complete another full generation of her polymer, but she could extend one corner of the pattern.

He guessed her thoughts and curled a protective arm around his skyscraper. "Mine!"

She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, then kicked the leg of the table.

"That's just mean!" Malcolm complained as his little building crumbled.

She was already gathering the scattered blocks. "Can have them back in a minute."

He bent sideways to reach the dominoes that had ended on the floor, and gamely handed them over.

"So, what is that, exactly?" he asked.

"Nothing in particular. Just an example of polymer architecture."

"Polymer?"

"A large molecule consisting of strong covalent bonds. You see them every day. Plastics. Polyethylene. Amber. Rubber. Putty. Sealant. Those windows. Proteins. Cellulose. The backbone of DNA."

She kept her eyes on her molecule, but her mind was fully focused on Malcolm. In the past year, she'd learned enough about people, about real people outside the Academy, to know that this was when he would be bored. He'd resent that she was being smart, or get confused as to her meaning and be unable to continue the conversation.

"Those windows?" he asked.

"Have to be strong."

"Yeah. Guess so. And it's done with molecules like that?" He cocked his head and stared at her work.

"Hmm…" She shuffled things about, carefully shifting the structure. "Maybe more… like… this."

"Nice."

"I'm only guessing." Actually, she wasn't, but she was still worried that she'd scare him by being too smart.

"I doubt that," he said. His tone was kind. "But if it's the case, how `bout you stop wasting time and let me have a go?"

She frowned at him until she saw the humor in his eyes, then without planning it she found herself blurting out, "You're easy to talk to. You're much friendlier than the captain. I like being with you."

Malcolm cocked an eyebrow at her in surprise, but her compliment didn't stop him from stealing back dominoes. He took apart one corner of her molecule and began to stack the blocks into a wall, offset like the structure of an old-fashioned brick building. After he had a few rows complete he grinned and finally replied.

"You people are easy to please. Already I got Kaylee sayin' we're pals, now you. If only I could win Zoë over, I'd – "

"You don't have to 'win over' Zoë. She's with you. She's got your back."

His raised eyebrow now expressed doubt. "Got my back?"

"It's a military thing."

"I suppose it would be. With her, I mean."

"I'm not military."

"That seems clear."

"So I don't have your back. But I'm your friend. We're friends, aren't we?"

His face relaxed into a natural smile and his reply was genuine. "Yeah, we're friends."

River sighed, suddenly frustrated. This dance was ridiculous. They were so close. No one, not even her brother, could be so accepting of her strange ways of thinking, of talking, of playing. And surely no one had ever made the captain so calm, so at ease, as she had during this trip. This was love. It had to be. If only…

River looked over her shoulder. Inara had taken over watchdog duty, though the woman was more discrete than Jayne. Her eyes were fastened on her bowl as she finished her late night breakfast.

Malcolm noticed River's shift in attention. "Miss Serra's an interesting woman," he said. "The other day I had myself a bit of a talk with her."

River felt her stomach tighten with dread. She sensed a thick emotion behind his light tone, though she couldn't see the true nature of it. "What kind of talk?"

"Oh, you know. Just a chat." His lips curved in what was supposed to be a carefree grin. "Work, love, sex, the meaning of life. Nothing serious."

He thought his irony would pass as nonchalant and amusing, but River knew better. "Why in the world would you talk to her about all that? You're not friends with her. You don't even know her."

He shrugged. "Maybe not."

She tilted her head and studied him. "But you wish you were friends."

"I…" He looked across the room. Inara had finished eating and was speaking to the worker behind the bar. Even in this worn, shabby place, dressed in cast off clothes, the woman had a shine to her, something that drew the eye. It made River glower.

"Every man must want her," Malcolm said wistfully. "Makes me feel common to join a crowd like that."

Her reply was flat and cold. "It is common. Incredibly common. In fact, that's just the right word for it."

Malcolm's half built wall took a tumble as a sudden passer-by bumped the table.

"Oh, excuse me!" Simon said, and he stooped to pick up the fallen dominoes from the floor.

Malcolm glared at him.

"I'm sorry I, um… " Simon looked back and forth between the two, then settled his gaze on Malcolm, as if he had no ability to carry out this act opposite his sister. "Have you had a nice journey?"

"Was fine up to now," River replied through clenched teeth.

"Good. Good. Glad to hear it. And… you're on vacation?"

Malcolm's glare turned into a plastic smile. "Off to see the sights. Spend time with family. Take lots of captures to send to folks back home. You?"

"Oh, well. The same." He paused and looked around the room awkwardly. "I uh, see my wife there. Guess I ought to… Well, enjoy your trip. It was nice to meet you." He turned away and went to join Inara, who'd been watching the exchange.

River rolled her eyes. "He's so bad at this."

"You ain't joking."

"Can't take him out on any crime sprees. Completely useless."

She was fully intending to devote some time making fun of her brother, but Malcolm didn't take up the banter. It soon became clear that his ideas were heading in a different direction; he left the scattered dominoes were they fell and stared after Simon. "Funny, them playing husband and wife," he said.

River's eyes danced nervously between her brother, Inara, and Malcolm. "Not so funny."

"They look good together. They fit."

She didn't know how to respond to that, so she bit her tongue.

"He's from the Core, right? Your parents are rich?"

"A little. Not a lot. Not like a Companion."

"But he ain't awkward around her. Bet he's met ladies like her before. Bet he makes conversation without getting all accusation-y and judgmental-y and serious, like some stupid fellas do. Just look at them, talking all natural."

"Why shouldn't they?"

He finally turned back to River and leaned in close to ask: "They known each other long?"

"You're jealous!"

"Ain't…" He sat back, looking sheepish, but his denial was firm. "No, I got no reason for that."

"You like her!"

"I told you, I don't at all. I'm just thinking out loud. Maybe I'm feeling bad for how it went when I talked to her. I guess I wouldn't mind being able to clear things up proper. I can't stand thinking that she's mad at me, that I hurt her feelings—"

"Cause you _like_ her!"

He glared at River. "I don't. Not like that."

She looked closer, trying yet again to read him. He never had been easy to figure out, not even after his mind became very nearly a clean slate, but River was making progress. She'd been focused on him for this entire journey, shutting out all other distractions, and she was learning his patterns. Now she saw something new, something that pleased her.

"You don't want to, do you?" she asked.

He turned away and sighed. Not a thoughtful sigh, but an _I-don't-want-to-talk-about-this_ sigh.

River answered her own question. "No, I think you don't want to like her. You never wanted to." She glanced toward the cafeteria, saw that Inara and Simon had their backs turned, their attention on their own conversation. It was a perfect chance to make an escape. She held out a hand to Malcolm. "I can help. Come on."

"What? Where?"

"Just come on!"

She glanced at their guardians again, then grabbed Malcolm's hand and pulled him away. She had one chance at this; she had to do it right. She tugged him quickly toward the stairway leading to the level above, jogged up a half dozen steps and around the curve to where they wouldn't be seen, then stopped suddenly and turned back to face him.

She was a step up, almost at eye level with him. There was confusion on his face, but not unwillingness. He had to know what she was planning, had to be aware of the possibility as she leaned closer to him, and yet he didn't pull away.

Before she could second guess herself she grabbed the front of his shirt, went up on her toes, and pressed her lips to his.


	13. Chapter 13

**Back Stories Book III**

_The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money._

_Thank you to desertgirl for the beta read._

**Chapter 13**

* * *

Inara laughed at Simon's question. "No, it's nothing like Cottonwoods Resort," she replied. Indeed, the ferry's breakfast cereal was edible, but in no way comparable to the delicacies available at a Core vacation destination. She smiled at memories of trips to the snow world of Hawthorne, where a few of her more active clients had enjoyed spending their time off. "The champagne breakfast at the main lodge was divine," she added, "especially when delivered to the Suite. I believe I once stayed in bed all day enjoying it."

"Champagne?" Simon asked. "I wouldn't know about that. It had to be… " He stared into the distance while he calculated. "…maybe a dozen years ago that we last took a vacation there. I was barely in my teens."

Inara could easily imagine a teenaged Simon tearing up the slopes with his young sister. "Is River a talented skier?"

Simon was momentarily distracted by the waiter bringing out his breakfast, the same hot cereal Inara had enjoyed just a few minutes earlier. After the man left them alone again, he replied.

"Of course she's good. Amazing, even. Do you recall the slopes at all? The south peak? Then you know that, on the west side, there's a bowl that ends in trees with a few enormous drops. Enormous to me, anyway, at the time. Well, River—" He looked over his shoulder toward his sister, as if to refresh his memory, then suddenly straightened. "Ai ya!" he swore. "They're gone!"

Inara turned to follow his gaze. The sight of the empty table nearly made her jump to her feet, but then she remembered the need to be discrete. She laid a hand on Simon's arm, reminding him as well, then replied in a hushed voice, "But how? We've been watching them."

"It's that special skill teenagers have."

"Gods help us. That's exactly what Mal is right now. A teenager."

"And he's with River."

Simon threw his spoon back in the steaming cereal bowl and pivoted his stool to look about the room. Inara searched as well, but it wasn't easy. Most of the dining level was dark. Several booths had been taken over by travelers stretched across the tables and chairs, catching a last hour of sleep before the ferry went into its approach to Oeneus.

Simon sighed. "But it's not a big ship. There aren't many options for things to do. What kind of trouble can they get into?"

They met each other's eye, then both got up and began to search the dining room.

.*. .*. .*.

River felt enveloped, even before Malcolm put his arms around her. His body was so much bigger than hers, not like Jase, the boy who'd topped her by barely an inch. Malcolm towered over her, even though she stood up one step, and the width of his shoulders dwarfed her hands as she slid them out from the collar of his shirt.

And his mouth… the captain may have convinced his mind that he was barely out of his teens, but his body knew better. He was nothing like Jase, who'd been patient and even tentative in his exploration. Malcolm delved into her, his lips parting hers with confidence and haste. The hint of stubble on his jaw scored her skin, but the contrast of the wet, swirling heat of his mouth was beyond anything River had experienced. Things in her brain (and elsewhere) sizzled and snapped and did everything that her mother's paperback novels had led her to expect.

Her pleasure blended with the emanations from Malcolm's mind. Two hands gripped the solid muscle of strong shoulders while two rough palms ran up the delicate curve of a spine; she couldn't be sure which were her own. One body bent, one supported, fingertips tangled in long, silky hair, slight curves pressed against hard planes, and all the while the taste of him made her feel headier than any of Simon's medications ever could.

She burrowed deeper into Malcolm's mind as she wrapped her arms around him, looking for more of his inner heat, but instead she came up against something that didn't make sense. At all. Stark and black and impenetrable, a wall stood behind the redness clouding the front of Malcolm's mind. She couldn't see through it or go around it or break it down.

That barrier broke into her spell. She pulled her mouth away from his and put her hands in his hair to hold his head still, then rose up further on her toes. She distantly enjoying how her legs pressed against his, but she was more intent on setting her ear against his temple. He tried to turn his head and kiss her neck, but she held him still.

"Shhhh…" she whispered, and closed her eyes. "I need to listen."

He made a small whimper of protest, but let her have her way. Really, she sensed, he liked it. He liked the simple stillness of close contact, of holding an accepting body against his and feeling like he wasn't alone. He wasn't even aware of how much he craved this.

But he was also thinking other, very different, things. Little scraps of feeling escaped from behind that unyielding barrier, whispers quickly buried under the chaotic mess of his conscious mind.

"Shhh." She hushed him again, as if the turmoil of his thoughts could be stilled on command. Perhaps it could, because she heard something then; she heard it so clearly that she could see it too.

Disgust rose in dark green waves. Steel gray ribbons of reluctance wove up from the shadows of his mind, trying to build a cage that could solidify his will, contain his need, resist what she was doing to him…

_Stop don't do this it's River it's all wrong you can't do this stop it NOW—_

River wrenched her mind back through the hazy cloud that had nearly taken them both. She continued the path in the physical world, pushing clumsily away from Malcolm. He tried to stop her, to catch her arms, but she slipped from his grip and fell back onto the carpeted stairs.

"He's in there!" she gasped, staring up with wide eyes.

Malcolm reached out, his face full of hurt confusion. "What're you – "

"Captain's in there! Can see, knows… he hates this!"

But Malcolm didn't know. The heat of the young man's lust pulled at her, and the pangs of Mal's long suppressed loneliness reached out even more seductively. But she couldn't do this, not now that she knew.

"I shouldn't have," she gasped. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" She pushed past him and ran back down to the dining hall.

.*. .*. .*.

Inara searched the shadowed tables, quietly stepping past sleeping families, while Simon disappeared into the game room. But it was quickly obvious that Malcolm and River couldn't be here; the room was too open, there was nowhere for the pair to hide.

"Upstairs," Inara suggested when she met up with Simon again.

"I'll look. You stay here, just in case they come back."

Inara nodded and returned to the dining room as Simon hurried toward the stairs.

.*. .*. .*.

River had every intention of returning to her cabin, but she found herself frozen as soon as she stepped onto the dining level. Simon was suddenly standing before her, his arms reaching out in that way he sometimes did, as if he wasn't sure if hugs or restraints were needed.

But her brother wasn't the reason she stopped.

"It's worse here," she whispered. The nastiness that turned her stomach didn't diminish as she ran from the awakening scraps of Mal Reynolds. It only thickened. Dimly, she heard her brother ask if she was all right, but she couldn't respond. She could only press against a hard, unyielding hate that cut right back into the core of her. She couldn't understand. Was it that bad, this thing she had just done?

She felt the source of this badness coming closer, as if it could see her. It was laughing. It had been watching her, she realized, and it knew exactly what she'd been trying to do. It knew how wrong she'd been. It was her own guilt, she decided, her own doubts that she have should listened to. She had no choice now. She couldn't make it shut up. She couldn't make it stop mocking her.

"Leave me alone, Simon!" she said, and she turned her back on him and returned the way she'd come.

Malcolm was sitting on the stairs, bewilderment and doubt pouring off of him. The sight of her made a flare of shame and disgust rise from the turmoil of his mind, and it scorched her like a sudden wind pushing bonfire's blistering heat into her face. She turned her eyes away and skirted him, staying as far from him as possible until she passed by. Then she fled upwards, leaping up the steps so nimbly that she left her brother far behind.

As she stepped onto the top level of the ship she ran full tilt into a big body that didn't yield. The man grabbed her firmly by the shoulders and held her in place.

.*. .*. .*.

Inara returned to her seat at the dining room bar. Perhaps she shouldn't have left the search to Simon, but, in truth, she didn't trust herself to become involved with whatever was happening between River and Malcolm.

She found herself in a bewildering state. She knew human emotion well enough to recognize what she was feeling, no matter that it was ridiculous: she was jealous. She was jealous of a teenaged girl, of the easy laughter River had been sharing with Malcolm, of the way the two slipped out of sight. She didn't like where her imagination took them.

Perhaps it wasn't unreasonable. Why wouldn't Mal, in his younger state, be drawn to River? The captain had always had a protective instinct for the damaged girl, and even before his memory was lost he had become fond of her. The two had come to some sort of amicable understanding after Jubal Early's incursion onto _Serenity_, and Mal's capture on Oeneus, and following sickness, had seemed to deepen their connection. Inara had noticed, but she hadn't seen anything more to it than a shared experienced of suffering. They'd been abused by the Alliance in similar ways, and they'd both found ways to survive.

There may have been nothing romantic about the captain's relationship with River, but Malcolm, as a young man, had no obstacle of different age or life experience. River might be exactly the right kind of young woman to interest him. Certainly, he'd made it clear that he had no desire for someone trained to live a Companions's life.

Inara clenched her jaw and felt tension rise in her shoulders: so she was back to this. She just couldn't let go of the things he'd said. And though she tried to stop herself, she found his words repeating in her mind yet again. Had her life been so hollow as he thought? Could he be justified in wanting to avoid a real connection with her?

She started when she realized that she was no longer alone. Malcolm had taken the seat next to her while she'd been too buried in her thoughts to notice.

"Where did you… I mean, where did River go? Is she all right?"

"Couldn't tell," he replied glumly, and he shook his head. "I got no idea what just happened."

.*. .*. .*.

A familiar voice grumbled out of the man who'd caught hold of River. "Whoa there, sā dàn nú," Jayne said. "What's your rush?"

"Bad down there," River said. She was nearly blinded by tears, and she gripped Jayne's forearms, grateful for his support. "Very bad down there. Hates me. Wants to hurt!"

He frowned. "What're you talkin' about this time, moonbrain?"

"The captain." She shook her head. "Not the captain. Can't be the captain. He wouldn't… he wouldn't do a lot of things he's done. Malcolm's going away, and the captain… I don't know who's coming! Don't know why I didn't feel it before. It's after us." She clutched at her forehead, confused at the path her thoughts were leading her along. Nothing made sense. "It's down below. He shouldn't touch me. He hates me. It's after him. It'll take him away! It's… I don't know what I'm saying!"

She pulled free of Jayne's grip and ran to an open corner, a right angle intersection of windows where she could have the Black on two sides of her, and she stared out as if she could will herself off of this ship and out _there_, where no hurtful, hateful thoughts could dig into her brain.

She felt her brother's presence, a look shared with Jayne. The mercenary turned and left, and Simon took a seat at some distance from her.

.*. .*. .*.

Malcolm sighed; a sound of frustration, but also sadness. "I don't know. I really don't. I mean no harm, but I seem to have a habit of making womenfolk run away in misery."

Inara blushed as she remembered that she'd done just that herself, only a few days ago. She'd hoped that he hadn't noticed how much his opinions of her life had upset her, but of course he must have.

"Not in misery," she denied weakly. "Not at all."

"I do notice when I open my gorramned mouth and what comes of it is tears in what should be a happy young lady." He lifted a hand to his mouth and wiped his fingertips over his lips as he talked on, now almost mumbling to himself. "I don't think it was…. It wasn't quite right. Happened so fast, I don't know. I can't find where the fault lies. But it's got to be there somewhere."

Inara didn't see the need to assign blame, but wasn't able to gather herself and explain that to him. She felt her cheeks burn, appalled to think that he might have seen her crying, that he might know she'd been so upset over his disapproval that she'd needed support from Kaylee merely to walk back to her shuttle.

"There weren't so many tears," she said, her eyes fastened on the shadowed doorway behind the dining bar. She couldn't look Malcolm in the eye. "Really, barely any." Surely he didn't know how she'd fallen apart in her shuttle. Surely Kaylee hadn't told him?

Malcolm was muttering to himself: "I do like the girl. She's nice to talk to. But…" He still had a hand over his mouth, and he smacked his lips together as if trying to rid himself of a bad taste. "You got any eats?" he asked, his eyes suddenly fixed on Inara. "Beverage maybe?"

The change of subject jarred her into turning to look at him. "No," she replied. "I could order you... Oh! Simon left his cereal."

"That's a kindness." Malcolm gamely took over Simon's cooling breakfast. "Ain't right," he mumbled as he chewed.

"Maybe you shouldn't worry so much about what's right."

His voice was neutral, not accusatory, but his words stung her. "Yeah, I'm sure you got that down."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" she asked sharply.

He dropped his head and stirred at the cereal. "See—there I did it again. I didn't mean it like that, really I didn't. It just that, if I kiss a person, it _means_ something. I ain't one to go around kissing every girl I meet. It ain't my way."

She gasped in exasperation. Hadn't they covered this topic already? "No one said it had to be. What I do is just that—what _I_ do. Me! Not you."

He threw the spoon back into the bowl, than shook his head and wiped at his mouth again. "I gotta get rid of this. A beverage might do it. The adult kind."

Inara looked closer at him; he didn't seem to be hearing a word she said. And then she noticed: this wasn't the carefree young man he'd been for some days now, but reminded her more of the captain she knew. His eyes were shadowed, as if he was feeling haunted. The sight made her forget her own self-consciousness.

"What's wrong?" she asked abruptly.

Malcolm shook his head in denial. "Nothing. Just feeling a bit… off."

Off? she asked herself. Was the conversation they'd had in _Serenity_'s galley bothering him as much as it was her?

Inara had to know. She turned in her seat to face Malcolm fully, and forced herself to ask in a warm voice, "Please tell me—what's wrong?"

.*. .*. .*.

"Gorramn girl is off her nut," Jayne whispered to himself. "Has been since day one, and will be 'till the cows all drop dead."

Still, he couldn't dismiss River's words. The girl had shown herself able to sense things that were in fact, somehow, real dangers. It gave his stomach a twist.

_Malcolm's going away…_

Going away? Where could the captain go to, out here?

_I don't know who's coming. It's after him. It'll take him away._

Too much possible reality lived in those words. Plenty of folks were after Mal. Could they be here? Could they be hiding where Jayne hadn't been able to see them?

_It's down below. _

Jayne hurried down the steps, heading toward the bottom level of the ferry.

.*. .*. .*.

Malcolm didn't answer right away. Apparently, the effort of choosing his words was arduous. It made him do something of a dance. He crossed his legs, immediately uncrossed them, slid down in his seat to recline, then pushed back up and leaned forward on his elbows. Finally, he crossed his legs again and huddled up around himself, pretzeling in an odd way, before he spoke. "I just feel a mite…" He hunched his shoulders and didn't look at Inara. "…dirty."

"Dirty?"

He nodded.

"Oh for Buddha's sake! You and I only _talked_ about sex!"

He straightened and looked at her clearly for the first time, drawn out of his thoughts by her accusation. "This ain't about you!"

That took Inara aback. "It's not?"

"No! I do have other things goin' on in my life. I got other concerns that… got me all concerned."

"Well, I hadn't… hadn't realized."

He scoffed and reclined in his seat again. Inara was glad for the moment to shift her thoughts. She was relieved, but also strangely disappointed that his "discomfort" had nothing to do with her.

"What is it?" she asked, trying to gentle her voice. "Would you like to talk about it? Really, I'm a very good listener."

He sat motionless while he considered her offer, then he made a sound of disgust. Without replying he stood and stalked off, taking a window seat where he could turn his back to her and stare out into the Black.

Inara stayed at the dining bar, looking after him. A question cropped up in her mind and wouldn't be silent: what in the verse had happened between him and River?

She started to stand, feeling relief, when Jayne appeared, but he wasn't there to take over the Malcolm-watching duties. He gave her a short nod and stalked by, heading down toward the private cabins. Inara's complaint died on her lips; the mercenary was walking fast, as if on a mission. She hadn't the energy to stop him. She plopped back into her seat and abandoned herself to brooding.

.*. .*. .*.

Jayne circled the cabin level of the ship twice. It didn't do much good. He didn't have River's senses, and no matter how slowly he moved past each door, he couldn't figure who or what was inside. Once a half-awake businessman stumbled out of a cabin door and went upstairs, but no one else stirred. Jayne saw and felt nothing that could account for River's alarm.

"Gorramned hútú dàn," he muttered. "Mó guǐ ná zhī." He decided to return to the dining level to take over for Inara, but just then he heard his name.

It was spoken by a woman, an older woman with a voice forced to be low and hard, as if she was trying to hide that she was female, as if she was trying to deny that any part of her was soft and she was nothing but tough, brittle strength.

He knew that voice.

.*. .*. .*.

Inara berated herself for completely forgetting her schooling. She'd been so focused on her own tangled emotions that she'd missed what should have been obvious: Malcolm's mood had nothing to do with her. It was all about River.

But Inara could handle that. She could put her own concerns aside and help him, encourage him to talk, and listen with open acceptance.

The friendly waiter made a pass through the dining room moments later, and Inara waved him over. She ordered a double of whatever passed for whiskey on this ship—it would serve as an opening with Malcolm. She sat for another moment with the drink beside her, gathering her thoughts. No matter what had happened, it wasn't her business to judge. This man wasn't Mal. He wasn't in charge of his faculties, and she shouldn't condemn him for something he had no control over.

She squared her shoulders, resolute, and reached for the drink, but another hand was on the glass first. She followed the arm up to a familiar face: an attractive man. Tan, dark-haired, dark-eyed, white teeth in a brilliant smile that lit up just for her benefit.

"Thank you, my dear," Will said. "I do like a cocktail before I skewer myself a Browncoat."

.*. .*. .*.

sā dàn nú: satan-spawn  
hútú dàn: confused/clueless person  
mó guǐ ná zhī devil take her


	14. Chapter 14

**Back Stories III: Chapter 13  
**By mal4prez

_

* * *

The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money._

* * *

"You really shouldn't," Will warned when Inara started to rise from her seat. He opened his jacket to show her a gun on his hip. "Yeah, I took the risk of bringing it along. Not like my partner. She tends to worry about rules, but I know better. Those who buy the expensive tickets get to skip the security scanner. It's a nice weapon, isn't it?"

Inara couldn't begin to form a response.

"Not that I'd harm such a lovely woman as yourself," he added, his tone light and casual, "but let me tell you what a good shot I am. See the back of your captain's head over there?" Without shifting his eyes he nodded toward Malcolm, who sat with his attention fixed on the stars outside the ferry's transparent hull.

Will's face turned hard. "Wouldn't it be a shame to mess up his pretty hair with brains and gore? Not to mention what it'd do to his face when the bullet went out the other side."

The breath caught in Inara's chest, something between a gasp and a sob. "You can't… " She stopped and swallowed hard. "We're not helpless. We have friends."

"Like the young doctor? The teary girl? " He closed his jacket and snorted his disgust. "No, I bet you mean your hired gun. Color me scared. Go ahead and hold your breath waiting for that one to show up."

.*. .*. .*.

The woman must have known how dangerous it was to sneak up behind Jayne. She stayed at the far bend of corridor, her hands plainly visible, while she waited for his reaction.

It was a good long moment before he found words; this encounter was not what he'd expected, and he was having trouble sorting it out.

"This ain't by chance," he finally said.

He meant it as an accusation, but Ginny only shrugged. "Maybe I got lucky." She eyed his body and smiled, the grin of a women thinking dirty thoughts. "Lucky me."

Jayne didn't buy that idea. Slowly, he moved his right hand toward his waist. "I don't think so." His voice was low and hard enough to make his meaning clear: he was reaching toward his belt for a reason that didn't involve a repeat of their previous activities.

"All right, then," she admitted. "I've been following you."

"Now that rings a' truth. Why?" His hand slid just up inside his coat, getting close to the gun he'd tucked in his waistband.

Her grin turned a shade more wicked. "You're a damned fine lay."

He couldn't stop the corner of his mouth from quirking up. "Plenty of truth in that too, but it ain't the whole story."

"Maybe."

In spite of her show of pluck, she had to know that he was resting his fingers close to a trigger. She moved slowly, reaching a hand toward a door in the inner bulkhead of the ship. A sign next to it claimed that this wasn't the entrance to a regular private cabin; this was the way down to the luxury suite on the lowest level.

"I got some nice quarters," Ginny said with a pat of the door. "Why don't you come on down and we'll talk. Or do other things."

Jayne snorted and got a firm grip on his gun. "You must think I'm a gorramned fool."

She shook her head and her expression turned sober. "If I meant you harm, I could have seen to it already. Penthouse Suite's got a security cam of the hallway. I been watching you pass by. I could have slipped out real quiet and clubbed you over the head if that was my purpose."

"Why ain't it? What's your game?"

"Just wanna talk. Or do other things." She grinned again and reached toward her jacket pocket, but Jayne was faster, drawing his pistol and fixing it on her.

"Oh, come on and stop being stupid!" she said, her voice lowered to a harsh whisper. "I'm not even armed. I don't have a piece like yours that'd get through a scanner, so I boarded without." Moving slowly, she pulled something out of her pocket and, with a sarcastic air, held it up to show him how harmless it was. It was a door pass, the luxury electronic kind. "Now, stop waving that thing around. There's no one here, but that won't last. Let's go below before someone sees you with that gun and makes a fuss." She pressed her thumb against the end of the key and the door beside her softly clicked as the lock released.

"Who's waitin' down there?" Jayne asked, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Not a soul. We got a chance to talk before my partner shows, if we hop to it. Or are you scared to be alone with little ole me?" She batted her eyelashes and looked about as silly as a plain, dumpy old woman could.

Jayne laughed, short and hard. "No, I ain't afraid of you." But still he hesitated.

"So, come on! I promise you won't be sorry. I got an idea, an offer. You might like it."

Now, an offer was something Jayne found intriguing. He didn't expect to take her up on it, not unless she had a pretty profound reason why he ought to trust her, but there could other kinds of gain to be had. If he let her talk, he'd likely find out why she'd been following him from world to world.

Anyway, there couldn't be much danger in hearing her out. He had the upper hand and didn't mean to lose it. And she was right: they couldn't keep talking in this corridor. He couldn't risk raising the suspicions of other passengers.

He walked to the door and waved her forward with his gun. "You first."

.*. .*. .*.

River tipped her head against the clear outer hull of the ship, as if getting her brain closer to the void outside would make her void inside as well. She wanted nothing more than to be empty, to climb to the very top of this ferry, go out into the Black, and drift away. She'd gotten as far as she could, put as much distance as possible between herself and the ugliness she sensed lurking in the lower levels of this ship, but it wasn't far enough. She couldn't escape.

Simon had followed her to this large, silent room where barely a light was on and hardly a passenger stirred. At first he kept his distance, but after a time he moved to a seat close to her corner, close enough that he could lay a gentle, questioning hand on her back. He didn't ask out loud; he seemed to know that a spoken question now would be useless.

Her brother knew her so well. That was only one of many reasons she loved him.

"What is love, Simon?" she asked as she traced a fingertip along the window, not planning, but waiting to see what shape her inner mind would lead her to draw. "What is it? I care about you, I want to be with you, but I don't want to be naked with you. Is that still love?"

His reply was a waft of confusion and a tightening of his grip on her shoulder.

"What if I know someone cares for me, but he hates touching me? What is that? Can that still be love? Even if he hates me, too?"

Simon shifted out of the chair and settled on the floor next to her. "Who hates you? You must have misunderstood. No one hates you, River."

She knew better. She could feel a thick hatred in the air, an emotion so vile it would make her choke if she breathed it too deeply. She'd found disgust in Malcolm's inner mind, a need to shut her out, and since then the bitter green had darkened into the blackest, darkest kind of hate.

Her finger traced nothing but nonsense on the window, several different shapes that overlapped so that none could be rightly understood.

.*. .*. .*.

Jayne never once lowered his gun. His attention didn't waver, not even when he found himself entering the emptiness of space. The wall he stepped out of was solid, with a pair of doors on either side of him leading to other rooms in the Suite, but in front of him two large chairs, a low table, and a bed floated against the Black.

Ginny walked to the far wall, her outline dark against the heavens. She kept her back to him while he checked those other rooms—a head and a closet, both empty, as she'd told him they would be. But Jayne didn't relax his guard. He could barely see Ginny in the dim light of the distant stars, so he found a lamp by the bed and, while keeping his aim true, switched it on.

The light was weak but still showed the flaws in the room: faded stains on the chairs, scuffs on whatever material served as the transparent floor, fingerprints on the windows. It also made the faint reflection of Ginny's face and form appear on the window in front of her.

"Makes me understand how them Reavers got to be," she said, her voice soft. "Staring into that, with nothin' between you and it. Makes me feel small." Jayne shifted his stance, not sure what she meant to gain by talking like this. But she only went on, her voice tired. "Makes me feel like nothing I ever done means a thing. And I sure have done a lot."

"I can remind you of one or two in particular," Jayne said, perhaps with more bitterness than he'd meant. He was making connections in relation to Ginny's presence on this ferry. He was beginning to sense that understanding her sudden appearance, and the full story behind it, wasn't going to make him feel especially good about himself.

She took off her jacket and dropped it, then raised her arms to her sides and turned around. "You can see I don't have a gun on me," she said. Jayne did see; her clothes were fitted enough that she wasn't likely to be hiding much. "You can pat me down if you'd like," she offered coyly.

"No, thank you very much," Jayne replied with some scorn. "I got this situation in hand enough as it is."

"You're the boss."

Her flippant attitude irritated him. She didn't seem to be taking him seriously. "Damn straight, I'm in charge. I ain't your boss, though. You work for some crew or another, and you're following me and mine. Been following us for some time, since Highgate at least. Wasn't none of this accidental."

She shrugged at him again, as if all his accusations rolled off her back without touching her.

"Kamath's people?" he asked. "Or somethin' from before… You one of Niska's folk? You seem creepy enough."

She took a seat in one of those puffy chairs, then leaned forward on her elbows and looked him in the eye. "I don't mean you harm."

"Pay attention, little lady. That ain't what I asked."

"You recall what we talked about on that station, last time we met?"

"You mean the part where I told you where my crew was headin'? Gorramn it, I did, didn't I? That was the reason for it all, right? You was out to learn my plans, and I just went and told you." He sat down heavily on the bed. If he could have slapped himself without disturbing his aim, he would have.

"That ain't what I'm referrin' to. I mean when we talked before that. About having a life. About gettin' away to where we could choose for ourselves. You remember that?" Ginny's face looked earnest, as if it meant the world to her that he understand what she was telling him.

He found himself wanting to believe that she meant no foul play, but no way was he going to be a fool again. His gun stayed level. "As I recall," he said, "that was you doing all the talking. Had nothing to do with me."

Her voice rose. "But you knew what I meant. You knew exactly what I meant!"

He shifted uncomfortably. Yes, he'd known. Her words had draw him to her, even though she was plain, even though she'd had a mystery about her, something he'd known in his gut that he shouldn't have trusted. But the way she'd talked, like some part of her knew some part of him better than anyone else, had pulled at him. Same as it pulled at him now.

He realized that he'd been quiet too long, that he'd taken his eyes off her. But she hadn't moved. "So?" he asked gruffly.

"So, I'm asking you: if you had freedom almost in your hands, if you had the peace you'd been looking for all your life right in reach, wouldn't you close your fingers and take it? Wouldn't you take that for your_self_, Jayne?" She held his eye, and he saw that there was more than the obvious meaning behind her question. She was moving towards that offer she thought he'd like.

It wasn't his first time in such a situation; he'd had tempting opportunities for drastic lifestyle change before. More than once. And he had taken the leap from time to time. But he'd found out the hard way that the one dangling the carrot wasn't always being truthful. Deals with strangers could turn very sour very fast, and something like this sometimes ended with a well intentioned man trapped in an airlock with a very angry captain at the door controls.

No, Jayne'd had enough of that. He wasn't going to be taken in by this woman. Not again. He stretched out his arm, making sure the silver gun in his fist caught the light. "Philosophy is fun and all, but I'm out for intel. You just fill me in as to what you're about, and what interest you got in my crew, and let's leave it at that."

She laughed once, a short, hard bark. "Right, your crew. Why are you so eager to stand up for them, Jayne? You told me that you liked them once, but not anymore. So why are you still bothering?"

It was a good question, one he'd asked himself more than once in the past weeks. It only made him angrier that she put it to him. "I'm doin' my job!"

"Babysittin' a lunatic and a little girl." She shook her head. "Shame on you, Jayne. You're a better man than that. I spent all of a half hour with you, and I see it. You're quality, a rare kind. But you let those people run you like you're nothing but a slave. A stupid, useless slave. You should be demanding respect, not letting them order you around."

That also hit a nerve. "I don't see as you got room to talk, Miss Ginny-if-that's-your-name. I seem to recall you not feeling much love for your crew, but looks to me like you're still running about asking them how high you ought'a jump."

She suddenly sat forward, almost coming out of the chair. "But I got one more jump, Jayne. One more time to do what they say, then I'm free. That's the end of all of it. Damn near thirty years I've been toeing the line, mostly `cause I didn't know what else to do. But I'm figuring it out." She tapped a finger at her forehead, like she needed to point out the machine of her brain. "I'm seeing how it really is. I got it now. These fools… these gorramned fools who send me orders go around like they're lords of all the wisdom in the `verse. _Go there, find out that, shoot this one, bring the other in._ To what end? You think them folks with big titles really know what they're doing? You think they care for any but them and theirs? To hell with it! I'm done. One last hoop to jump through, and that's the end for me. What do you say to that?"

Her defiance resonated with him, made his own anger run hot in his veins. But he'd made up his mind, and nothing would change it. He swallowed down his rising ire and didn't lower his gun or waver in his aim. "If I'm the last hoop you're referring to," he said, "best find another. You won't be jumping though me."

She stood up. "What? You gonna shoot me over it? You really gonna shoot me?" He didn't move, and she snorted a disgusted laugh. "Fine. Keep that shiny pistol on me if it makes you feel better. I don't give a damn."

He did, and she didn't. He held the gun in his right hand, kept it on her as she walked to him, as she climbed onto the bed and onto him. Maybe he moved the immediate aim away from her temple when she started moving against him in a way that made his muscles tense, but he kept the gun cocked. Even when her pants were down and his fly was open and her legs were around him and he was inside her and she panted her rebellious anger against his ear while she rode him, he held that gun ready. He held the muzzle of it against the back of her head while she clenched at his short-cropped hair, pulling his face close to hers. Having one hand held aside like that, the other somehow involved with helping her body move, meant he couldn't redirect her properly when she put her lips on his, and he could only fight back by tasting her mouth just as deeply as she tasted his. And maybe he moved his finger away from the trigger when he felt his groin tighten, just so as to be safe from accidental discharge that might call attention to the current goings-on in the Penthouse Suite. And he couldn't deny that when heard her cry out he set the gun on the bed next to him, just so could pull her body down hard onto his, to plumb her as deep as he could. And he'd swear the tremors were still rumbling through her body when she took up that little gun and brained him with it, and how unfair was that?

.*. .*. .*.

A soft chirp rose from inside Will's coat. It must have been a signal of some kind, because he immediately went into motion. He swallowed down the whiskey Inara had ordered for Malcolm, then stood and tilted his head toward the central stairway. "Go on below decks," he told Inara in a lowered voice, "and don't try any of your moves. I've learned my lesson about you and I'll stay at a distance you can't cover, not before I put a bullet in a painful place."

His threat wasn't needed; she was too numb to try anything, not with Malcolm sitting so helplessly a short distance away. Following Will's directions, she moved as quietly as she could and soon found herself passing by her own cabin, pulling open a door in the inner wall of the corridor, and descending to the lowest level of the ferry.

In the room she entered, a man lay unconscious on a bed, his legs bent off the near side, his clothes rumpled, a red stained towel wrapped around his head. It was Jayne.

"I see it worked out right," Will said.

He wasn't speaking to Inara. A woman sat in one of large, stuffed chairs in the open half of the Suite, turning a sleek silver gun in her hands. Like Will, she seemed to have an affinity for dark clothes, and her hair was deep black, but her skin was pale and her face looked worn and drawn. Her features seemed familiar, but Inara couldn't place her.

"Can I check on him?" Inara asked, trying to keep her voice calm and controlled.

"Please yourself," Will replied carelessly.

Inara knelt next to the bed and felt Jayne's pulse; it was fast and strong. A large bump rose just behind his left temple, blood still trickling from it, but he didn't seem permanently damaged. She gently pressed the towel against his injury, then glanced over her shoulder. Will had settled into the open chair, his gun plainly visible in a clear message to Inara, but his attention was focused on the woman.

"Did you get to have your evil way with him first?" he asked, his tone lively with humor.

The woman glared at him.

"So, you're not the type to kiss and tell?" he teased.

"Oh, I'll tell a'plenty," the woman replied. Inara immediately recalled the voice and turned to study the woman again. Of course—Will's partner, Ginger, who'd been with the hijackers on Niflheim. She looked quite different now: thinner, and seemed years older though her hair color and eye makeup should have made her appear younger.

"I had every bit of my evil way that I wanted," Ginger went on, her grim tone removing the brag from her words. "That's how I got him off his guard." She turned her head to meet Inara's eye. "That's how it works, ain't it? A man'll lose his senses soon as he gets a whiff a' yīn dào."

Inara pushed back a swell of anger and tried to focus on Jayne's injury, at least to keep her hands busy while she thought. These two were Alliance agents, but not the kind who worked within the law. They'd first made that clear when they tried to take _Serenity_ on Niflheim, and it appeared that their methods hadn't changed in the months since. Inara had known for some time that they were working with the Alliance under Trevor Marone, trying to find Mal, but she'd had no idea that they were so close. And now they had nothing to stop them from capturing him. Nothing but the Tams.

"Did you really?" Will asked in the tone of one speaking down to a stupid child. "Did you really get that big, burly man to sex you?"

"Wasn't the first time," Ginger replied sharply. "Just `cause something's got no value to _you_, don't make it worthless."

"I am going to have to hear this story in detail," he said, his voice full of delight. "It appears that I've underestimated you by a long shot. But it'll have to wait until we get Reynolds. He's a sitting duck. The little girl's gone wiggy and run off somewhere upstairs, the doctor after her. Our man—our boy, I should say—is all alone. Probably confused, and likely with no memory of who you are." He grinned at Ginger. "Surely he's got no hope against your feminine allure, but if he somehow resists, tell him how his lady here is in my evil clutches, all helpless. Speaking of that, before you go, do me a favor…"

Inara had been pressing a clean end of the towel to Jayne's head, but before she could completely staunch the bleeding she was pulled away. At Will's orders, Ginger removed Jayne's leather belt and used it to bind Inara's hands in front of her. Inara was led to the vacated chair and pushed into it.

Will kept to his place, grinning in his victory. "You got a weapon there?" he asked Ginger.

For the first time, something like a smile cracked the woman's hard face. "Got it off the merc. Go figure this: it's Hank's gun." She held up the silver pistol she'd been holding when Inara arrived; on closer examination Inara recognized it. She recalled Jayne crowing about the weapon after their encounter with Will's gang on Niflheim.

Willed laugh out loud. "Hank—that bonehead!" he snorted. "It's been an interesting year out here, hasn't it Ginger? What people we've had the pleasure of working with! Hank had to be one of the highlights. First: the hair. And the beard. Then all his loony ideas of fate and destiny and how gorramned important he was, him and his shiny gun. Then in a snap he's over and done, a bullet in the forehead." He leaned toward Inara. "Don't tell Reynolds this, but I do admire your captain just for the way he took out Hank. Beautiful irony. Couldn't have done it better myself."

He sank back into his chair, still chuckling. "God, it's good to win," he said. "Ginger. Go!"

The woman tucked Jayne's gun in her belt, pulled on a jacket, and shuffled out the door.

As soon as she left, Will moved to the far side of the suite and pulled a small comm device from his shirt pocket. He kept his back to Inara and his voice low while he spoke into it; she couldn't make out his words.

While he made his call, the stars began to shift behind him. Above his right shoulder one point of light came into view, a bright blue-white orb that outshone the rest. Inara knew what was happening: the ship was rotating so that the bottom of it pointed toward their destination, and soon the engines would begin firing to slow them down. Oeneus was not far away—she didn't have long to act.

She began working her wrists against the leather binding them, but before she could make any progress Will turned back to her and smiled. He wanted her to hear the end of his conversation. "All right then," he said. "I'll see you on the docks. Bring the troops. Besides Reynolds, I have some accomplices you'll need to take into custody."

As he shut down the comm and tucked it in his shirt pocket, Inara realized something horrible: this was about more than Mal. Simon and River were about to be taken by the Alliance as well.

.*. .*. .*.

River's finger continued to outline muddled, interfering shapes on the window. The different pictures in her head also overlapped, blurring each other. She couldn't separate them. "Need to do the right thing," she whispered. "Need to do the final thing. Need to escape. Need to make them pay. Hate so thick and dark I could cut it with my hand. Afraid to do harm. _Wants_ to do harm."

Simon sat beside her on the carpeted floor, one hand still pressing against her shoulder. "River, who are you talking about?"

She shook her head. "I don't know!" But she did know how this had started; it had been her own mistake that brought it on. "I'm not telling. It's my fault."

"What is?"

"I'm such an idiot! Worse than you, a hundred times worse."

"How can you say that?" She felt her brother's arms encircle her. So familiar. So different from Malcolm's heated embrace. "How could you possibly think that?"

"Made fun of you with Kaylee. I didn't know how easy it was to do everything wrong."

Simon held her close. "I wish you would tell me."

"Can't. Can't think. All I can feel is… wrong. Hate and evil and wrongness. Wish I hadn't let it in. Wish I could shut it out!"

Simon patted her back and shushed her. "Focus on me," he said. "Feel how much I love you? Focus on that. Don't think about anything else."

.*. .*. .*.

Ginger moved slowly, taking advantage of the dark and quiet that still ruled the ship. She stayed in the shadows while she located her target, then checked the dining room carefully for any sign of the doctor or the dark-haired girl. A few passengers were beginning to stir, but none of them appeared to pay any attention to Reynolds. He sat by himself, his expression one of thoughtful worry. So deep was the captain's concentration that he didn't stir until Ginger stood barely half a meter in front of him. When he finally lifted his gaze, he did a double take and his eyes and mouth opened wide.

"I know you," he said.

"You might."

"How do I know you?"

She smiled. "We're old friends."

He stared another long moment, then his expression turned dark. "Call me crazy, but I don't find myself feelin' friendly."

"You know me well enough for that?"

He frowned. "No. Gut feeling." He folded his arms across his stomach and spoke thoughtfully while he continued to study her. "Follow the gut," he murmured. "The mind can reason out some mighty fine things, but the gut says what needs to be known."

"Smart gut." Ginger pulled her right hand out of her jacket pocket, keeping it close but making sure he could see what she held.

He dropped his arms and his mouth fell open again. "I know that, too. I know that gun." His eyes turned soft, like he was seeing something far away, and she could barely make out words he added in a whisper:_ deep niú shĭ._

She had the feeling he wasn't talking to her, but she figured she'd best take it as if he was. "That's right. There's a pile of niú shĭ and you're right in the middle of it." A small wave of the pistol brought his attention back to her. She tucked it back in her pocket but made sure he could see where the aim was. "You'd best do as I say. If you feel any temptation to make a fuss, keep this in mind: we got your whore."

"My—?"

"Whore. The dark-haired pretty one. Come along if you got any concern for her."

.*. .*. .*.

There was nothing to be said. Asking Will to leave Simon and River alone would only guarantee that the sadistic psychopath would go get them, so Inara sat silently, praying that the siblings would stay clear. Perhaps River would sense the danger and hide herself and her brother in the remotest corner of the ferry. Perhaps Will would leave them there. He didn't seem to know who they were; so far he'd only shown interest in Mal.

Inara had to find out. She had to at least try.

"How… how are you here?" she asked, her shock still strong enough to make her words jumble together.

Will grinned. "On vacation with my girlfriend. She's a doll, isn't she?"

Her breath suddenly came fast. Having a conversation with this man was going to be one of the hardest things she'd ever done. Fortunately, his buoyant mood made him continue talking without further prompts.

"Okay, I'm lying. Been tracking the bunch of you for a while now, but that looks to be over. Time to spring the trap." He plopped back into his chair and stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing his ankles comfortably. "Not that it hasn't been fun, watching your boyfriend lose his mind. Seems to have lost his way as far as the girl too. Honestly though, I think she's a bit young for him. Tell me, does it hurt to know you got beat by a younger woman?"

Inara clenched her bound hands into fists, trying to steady herself. She wasn't going to play games with him. "What do you want from us?"

He looked her up and down with obvious scorn. "What do men ever want from the likes of you?"

She remembered their previous encounter, his attempt to cow her with threat of the kind of violence a man can do to a woman. She'd seen something in him then which she understood more clearly now: it wasn't rape that excited this man. He fed on fear.

She wasn't about to give him satisfaction. Her cheeks flushed with anger as she met his eye. "Trying that again, are you? Perhaps you didn't learn your lesson after all?"

His smile fell for a fleeting second, then broadened. "Here I am lying again. You seem to bring it out of me. Actually, what I want from you isn't what every man wants. I have no desire for _that_. I have other ideas of fun."

Her reply was full of scorn. "That much is clear."

Something in his eyes crackled, but his response was interrupted by the sound of an opening door and steps descending the stairs. Inara turned toward the room's entrance, hoping not to see _Serenity_'s captain, though she'd already recognized the sound of his tread.

As soon as he entered the room, Ginger just behind him, Malcolm's eyes fixed on Will. He immediately went pale.

"Billy," he said. "Or… " He tipped his head, the posture of one digging through faint memories.

"Now, don't hurt yourself, son," Will said. "That's my job."

"You leave him alone!" Inara snapped. "I know who you work for. You may not have principles, but they do!"

Will shifted his gaze off of Malcolm and tilted his head at Inara. "What exactly is it you think you know?"

"I know you work for the Alliance, and they have rules. You can't abuse people you're arresting!"

"Arresting?" Malcolm asked faintly. He face hadn't recovered any color. He stayed where he was, just inside the door with Ginger beside him. His eyes flicked about the room, taking in Ginger's gun, Jayne's injury, and Inara's bound hands, then his wide stare returned to Will. "You're Alliance?" he asked in an incredulous tone. "You're arresting _me_?"

.*. .*. .*.

It was a easy shape to make out. It was a familiar love, River realized, one she knew down to its smallest facet and tiniest cranny. She'd known the structure and color of it her whole life, but in recent weeks she'd taken her eyes off of it. In her confusion she'd created obstructions, planted seeds and then fed them, nourished them with her determination and need until they expanded, large and bloated, to hide everything else. Her fantasies had hidden this beautiful, familiar thing that had once been her foundation.

"I lost my way," she said.

Simon leaned back, releasing her from his comforting hug. "Let's go back to the cabin," he said gently.

"No!" She dove into his arms again, clinging to him. The other shapes, the hurtful ones, were still out there, somewhere, below her. "I can't go near him!"

"What is it, River? What happened? You know you can tell me. You can tell me anything."

She shook her head. "Not this. I can't ever tell you what I did."

He put his hands on her cheeks and held her face up so she had to look at him. "Do you really think that anything you do could scare me away? Remember—I grew up with you." His mouth curved in a smile, one River found herself answering. But then tears rose in her eyes and she sniffled.

"I was dumb, Simon. I made myself believe that he could love me, when really…" She let herself sense it, a touch of that hate, wanting to feel it again just so she could describe the horror of it to her brother. She had to make him understand how the captain felt…

But that wasn't right. That wasn't the captain.

Simon was still studying her face and he saw the change in her thoughts. "What is it?" he asked. "River, what—"

"Shh!"

All that disgust and hate, those overlapping pictures… she searched through them. She did know these voices, though not as well as she'd thought. She recalled the dirtiness of these minds, remembered how they'd invaded her peace once before. She'd been on a different ship then. She'd been curled up in _Serenity_'s engine room, hiding from bad people who'd come into her home and hurt her family…

The shapes separated, from her crew, from the background murmur of strangers, and from each other. She could finally see them, whole and complete, for what they were: two minds she'd sensed before. Two bad minds. One horrible. Very, very horrible.

"Lăo tiān yĕ! I've made a mistake!" she said, and she shook her head. "Bad, bad mistake." She met her brother's eye. "It wasn't the captain. It's the bad one. The one that hurts people. The one that hurt the captain. He'll do it again!"

She jumped to her feet and ran, her brother and his unanswered questions on her heels.

.*. .*. .*.

"That's right!" Will spat at Malcolm. He didn't appear relaxed now; he leaned forward in his seat, gun still tightly clenched in his right hand. "I'm arresting you, but not in the usual way. There's no warrant here. The people that sent me after you are far beyond police, and they didn't share their reasons for wanting you taken in. They didn't have to. You have no rights, and—" His eyes fixed on Inara again. "—there are no rules. I can do as I please, as long as I do it _neatly_. Now, what do you suppose I please? Go ahead. Make a guess."

The glint in his dark eyes was twisted, wrong. Goading him on was the last thing Inara intended, but the words slipped past her lips in a whisper, "Nĭ bú shì rén."

He jumped to his feet. "Lady, you're in no place to pass judgment on _me_. I may be a touch… unusual in my habits, but that's something you and I have in common, isn't it? Just like you, I've found a profitable way to make use of my particular… _skills_." He leaned over her chair and hissed the word in her face. "I'm a man of the law, whether I choose to follow it myself or not. Wanted fugitives, especially a whore and a lunatic Browncoat, have no right to criticize me. Unless you want me to give you something to criticize. You want that? You really want that?"

Inara didn't reply; she felt how close this maniac was to losing control. Or perhaps he had lost it already. Perhaps it was too late. He straightened and flicked his eyes toward Malcolm, who still stood frozen, his mouth open and stare unwavering, though his cheeks were beginning to flush red.

Will took in a deep breath, then exhaled away the hard edge of his tension. His shoulders slumped, but his mocking smile returned. If anything, Inara feared this side of him more.

"Sit the nice captain down," he ordered Ginger. "Tie him up. I want him not able to move. Not unless I do something to _make_ him move."

Inara's eyes were fixed on Will, her mind full of horror at what he could be intending, so she hardly saw how it happened. She was dimly aware of some small movement to her side, perhaps Ginger reaching toward Malcolm, then a sudden flurry of motion made Will look toward the pair.

A spray of warm wetness hit Inara's face at the same instant that Will's eyes widened with surprise. Thick blood dribbled from a hole in the center of his forehead for a long moment before his body slumped to the floor.

The sharp crack of a gunshot came to Inara then, as if it'd taken a few seconds for her to realize that she'd heard it. She turned toward the source of the sound. Mal was holding Ginger's right wrist in his left hand, her arm twisted cruelly, and Jayne's gun, once Hank's, smoked in his right fist.

Through the doorway behind Malcolm, River suddenly appeared with Simon just behind her. She pulled up short, her eyes on the dead man and the pool of blood that spread across the transparent floor, making a red stain that easily covered the approaching globe of Oeneus.

The girl nodded shortly. "Good."

.*. .*. .*.

Translations  
niú shĭ: shit  
yīn dào: snatch  
lăo tiān yĕ: god  
nĭ bú shì rén: you're not human


	15. Chapter 15

**Back Stories III: Chapter 15  
**By mal4prez

_

* * *

The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money._

* * *

Jayne Cobb recognized the after-effects of a blow to the head; he'd experienced such things before. A weight like a heavy stone sat on his left temple, pressing down as if it meant to stop his eyes from opening. Normally, he wouldn't argue. He'd found that the best way to deal with this kind of pain was to burrow down beneath it and not come up until several long healing hours could pass, but this time he couldn't let himself do it. A mysterious but undeniable urgency wouldn't let him be.

His sluggish mind slowly trudged its way to an answer, and like a sudden light in the dark it finally came to him: he'd heard a gunshot. He'd heard angry voices abruptly silenced by the sharp crack of a bullet turned loose. It wasn't Jayne's way to lay on his back while guns were in play. Stubbornly, he fought his way out from under the ache. The first thing he heard was an unwelcome voice.

"Jayne? Jayne, can you see?"

A good dozen fingers waved in front of Jayne's eyes, an indistinct lily-white face behind them. Jayne did his best to slap the fluttering hand away and managed to mumble something he hoped was insulting. He didn't need anyone making a fuss over him. He needed to see what was happening.

"Whoa there." The doctor's hand pressed against his shoulder, trying to keeping him down. "That's not a good idea."

Jayne ignored the advice and pulled himself up to a half-functional slouch, though the effort triggered a fresh bout of throbbing in his skull. He pried his eyes fully open and found himself sitting on the edge of a soft, mussed up bed. He was surrounded by Tams. Simon crouched to his right; River was curled against the headboard behind Jayne and on his left.

"The hate is gone," the girl told Jayne. Her eyes were wide and earnest, her checks streaked with half-dried tears, but her voice was thick with relief.

"How in hell'd y'all get…" Jayne's slurred words were silenced by the sight waiting by his feet.

A man lay on his back on the floor, a bullet hole perfectly centered in his forehead and a pool of blood thickening under his dark hair. Jayne tilted his head and squinted against his headache to study the corpse's face. He recognized it. This was the stranger who'd shared a drink with Malcolm on Highgate, talking peacefully until Inara showed up yelling about the Alliance. She'd said that this man was working for Trevor Marone, tracking the captain. She'd said that this smiling, black haired fellow was one of the gang who'd hijacked _Serenity_ on Niflheim.

Jayne raised a hand to his aching temple as he recalled a final detail, the last bit of information that hit home like the last long nail in the last long plank of his own coffin. This dead man's gang had included a female gunhand.

"Ginger," Jayne said softly. As discretely as possible he checked that his pants were fastened. They were, to his relief, though his belt was missing.

He glanced around; the ferry's Penthouse Suite was in a different state than he'd left it. The room was fully lit now, and reflections masked the view of the `verse outside the see-through walls. Jayne saw that his face was streaked with blood, but he quickly looked away. He found that he wasn't particularly eager to look into his own eyes.

Simon was still talking. "It'd really be better if you laid back down. I need to check—"

Jayne could do little more than hold up a hand, palm out at the doctor, and mutter, "Shuddup, doc."

Inara was standing just past the dead man. Jayne's pistol, the one he'd smuggled onto this ferry only to have Ginny—Ginger—knock him out with it, was hanging from the Companion's right hand.

Jayne aimed a limp finger in the general direction of the corpse. "You did that?" he asked, incredulous.

Inara shook her head without looking at him. A fine spray of blood covered her face, and it appeared that she wasn't entirely present. Her eyes shifted side to side as if her focus was trying to catch up with her thoughts. The answer to Jayne's question had to come from the far side of the spacious cabin.

"I did it," said a weak voice behind a pair of overstuffed chairs. "It was me that… I shot him."

Using Simon's shoulder as a crutch, Jayne awkwardly pulled himself to standing so he could see who was talking. The captain sat against the far bulkhead, legs flopped out in front of him but his arms folded defensively.

Jayne pointed at Mal and asked, "He back?"

"No," Simon replied softly. "No, I don't think he is."

Jayne finally got his balance settled enough to let go of the doctor and step around the pooling blood. "Gotta be part way back to himself, to make a head shot." He used a toe to push a gun out of the dead man's right hand, then stiffly bent to pick it up. "Got him while he was armed, too. Only cap'n could manage that."

"I took this from Mal," Inara said in a distracted way. She glanced down at the small gun in her hand. "Simon freed my hands, and Mal didn't seem well. I didn't think he should be holding a weapon. Here."

She held the small high-tech gun out to Jayne. He didn't say anything, but tucked the dead man's revolver in his waistband and took his own back. He might have asked how the piece found its way to Mal's trigger finger, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know. He certainly didn't want the rest of the crew to start considering that question.

"I think maybe you should sit," Simon said. Jayne inhaled to give a sharp reply, but realized that the boy wasn't talking to him. The doctor had found a new target for his unwanted attentions.

"No," Inara replied, and she waved Simon off. "I have to think." She turned to pace the empty area behind the cabin's two chairs, passing in front of _Serenity_'s captain though she didn't look at him.

As soon as she moved, Jayne saw someone that had been hidden behind her: a short, plump woman with hair way too black for her age sat against the bulkhead by the entrance to the suite, her pose similar to Malcolm's. She was hunkered down, her face pale and her eyes fixed on her dead partner.

"Ginny, huh?" Jayne said. "Ginny for Ginger. I should'a seen that. Mèi bái chī**,** I should'a seen that."

She didn't respond, didn't show any sign that she was even listening to him.

"You're Alliance," Jayne went on, "and you been following us a good long time. Since Niflheim at least. You and the corpse there tried takin' our ship, didn't ya?"

Her dead eyes didn't shift. "Just doing my job," she muttered.

Jayne's foot landed on something: his leather belt on the floor. How it got there was a mystery to him, but he was glad to find it. Not for his own use; his pants would have to stay up on their own. He tucked his gun in his back pocket, knelt in front of Ginger, and bound her wrists tight enough that she should have winced. She didn't.

"If I didn't have this headache," he told her, his voice low and soft so only she would hear, "I'd be turning violent on you `bout now."

"I know it," she replied calmly.

"We have to snap out of this," Inara suddenly announced to the room.

Jayne stood up, annoyed because, despite his injury, he wasn't the one in a daze. "What's the problem?" he asked gruffly. "Looks to me like you all got the situation handled."

"No. No!" Inara replied. She raised her hands in frustration, then dropped them and returned to pacing.

Jayne didn't wait for her to gather her thoughts and explain, but went into the cabin's roomy head and bent over the sink to wash the blood off his face. When he returned to the main room, little had changed. Malcolm and Ginger both stared at the cooling corpse as if they expected it to jump up and dance a jig, River was curled up on the bed, studying something behind the reflections on the far windows, and Simon hovered next to his sister looking useless. Inara kept with her pacing.

"We don't have time," the Companion said, speaking to herself in a firm voice. "We must decide what to do. We must _act_."

"Oddly, I have to agree with Jayne," Simon said. "We've got this handled. I mean, other than an agent of the Alliance held hostage, and another who's a corpse. A rather convenient one." He stopped. "I can't believe I just said that. I don't mean to take the murder of an Alliance agent lightly, even one who's such a… such a…"

"Murder," Malcolm murmured.

"I didn't mean murder. I meant… It doesn't matter. My point is, at least it happened here, in private. We can talk to the ferry's captain, have him keep this quiet until Zoë's delivered Kamath's goods."

"Zoë's probably done already," Jayne said, "seein' as she got to Oeneus a good half day ago. We just clear out before anyone comes aboard and finds this here body. Ain't no tracking the bullet in his skull to us, not as long as we don't let this other one talk." He turned his glare on Ginger. "That last part won't be hard. Ship's got airlocks."

Inara shook her head in the hurried way of a person with busy thoughts. "No, we can't wait. Will was in contact with someone. He made a wave while she—" Inara waved a hand at Ginger. "—was off getting Mal. People will be waiting for us on Oeneus, military people. They'll be at the docks and we'll never get past them. Too many of us have faces they know."

Simon sat down on the bed and took River's hand protectively in his own. "We can't let it happen."

"We have to find a way to get of the ship before it lands," Inara said firmly.

Jayne snorted. "Lots of windows to jump out'a."

Inara glared at him. "A way we'll survive."

"Zoë," Simon said. "The ship."

Inara nodded. "Right. Of course. We need Zoë. We need to contact her. Jayne, you've been talking to the captain of this ferry. I'm sure he'll let you use the comm system, if you ask _nicely_."

"What are the odds?" Simon muttered.

Jayne ignored the doctor. "But what about _her_?" His control over himself had steadied, and he was able to level a hard finger at Ginger. "Airlock's on the way to the bridge."

"No!" Inara replied sharply. "No more killing."

"Pardon," Jayne said, his voice firming up to match the Companion's tone, "but you ain't in charge." His eyes went around the room, checking people off one by one. "No, you ain't," he added with more force, "I'm the senior crew present. Senior sane one, that is. Any decisions need be made, I'm thinking it's _my_ call."

Inara's eyes crackled; she'd pulled herself together, and though she was small in stature, she could be formidable when she chose to argue a point. "Why, Jayne? Because you've made so many good decisions lately?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

In reply, Inara grabbed Jayne's elbow and pulled him into the passageway leading up to the rest of the ship. She stood close to him on the stairs and spoke in a low voice. "Jayne, I understand that you have good reason to be angry with that woman, but we can't waste time with revenge. The ferry is scheduled to land in less than an hour. We have to focus."

Jayne didn't like her tone. "I don't see as how you should be making the call. You ain't crew, lady. You ain't even a renter anymore. I know the deal Zoë made—if we didn't need your money, you'd be nothin' to us."

Inara's face fell. She took in a deep breath, then nodded grimly. Her jaw clenched, as if she hated the taste of her words, but she said them anyway. "So what do you propose we do?"

Jayne looked back down toward the suite, then over his shoulder up the stairs. He hadn't expected her to give in; in truth it deflated him a little. He'd been set for more of a battle. More than that, it worried him that Inara seemed to have an idea of what had passed between himself and Ginger. But if that was the case, he had to appreciate Inara's tact in keeping this little talk private.

"Fine then," he said. "I'll go on up to the bridge and ask the captain _nicely_ if I can wave Zoë. You stay down here and watch over Will's saobi."

As he climbed the stairs, he heard Inara's sighed response. "Brilliant plan."

.*. .*. .*.

Inara returned to the suite to find Simon busy stripping the comforter from the bed. He laid the thick blanket over his sister, who'd moved to the floor on the far side of the room from Will's body, then returned to pull at the sheets. Inara soon understood what the doctor was doing; he was spreading the largest sheet over the dead man. The fabric quickly stained bright red, but at least Will's expression of frozen surprise was hidden.

Inara stood in the doorway and watched Simon work for a moment, then suddenly remembered the gun in her hand and the dangerous stranger sitting on the deck beside her. She stepped away from the doorway, but found that Ginger had still made no attempt to fight her captors. Inara stared down at the woman, not sure what to do. She should probably ask questions. That's what Mal would do in this situation, she supposed: question the captive. Find out exactly what dangers the crew faced, the reason the Alliance was looking for _Serenity_'s captain.

Before Inara could decide how to carry out such an interrogation, or whether she was capable of being successful, she found Simon standing in front of her holding out a wet towel. At her confused look, he gestured at her face. Inara took the towel and wiped a corner of it over her cheek. To her horror, faint smears of brown-red came off on the rough cloth. She quickly went to the bathroom to wash more thoroughly.

.*. .*. .*.

_Glad to hear… been tryin' to get…_

"Zoë? What… what'd you say? Zoë?"

_I said… developments… customs talked to… what I mean. _

Jayne frowned as he tried to interpret the few of Zoë's words he could separate from the static coming through the comm. He didn't have much success, so he looked over his shoulder to glare at the ferry's captain. "You got something works better n' this?" he demanded.

The captain, a portly older fellow, shifted uncomfortably. "Uh… well, uh, the engines are firing to slow us down. That makes for interference."

…_few complications… _ Zoë went on. _You need… as soon as… _

"Complications?" Jayne shouted into the comm. "I can tell you a thing or two about complications!"

_What? What'd… into? …have to slap you… I swear…_

To Jayne, that sounded alarmingly like Zoë had made a snap decision about who to blame. He didn't like the accusation, even if, in some tiny little way, he might have earned it. Still, he didn't immediately respond to defend himself. His ear had caught something else, a few words muttered in a low voice. Jayne's eyes quickly found the speaker; the captain had meandered his way to the port side of the bridge where he was perched on the edge of a control board, his eyes on a viewscreen and one hand resting innocently against his chin.

_How long do you need them held up?_ were the whispered words Jayne had caught. A ratty looking guy sat at the board near the captain, but was busy with his own tasks. The captain couldn't have been talking to him. So just who was he talking to? And what did he mean, "held up"?

Jayne looked again but quickly turned away; he didn't want to be caught staring, and he'd seen enough to understand. The captain had a tiny comm plug in of his ear, barely visible in the dim light, and a small black cylinder snuggled in the palm of the hand so casually hovering near his mouth. A comm mic.

The ferry captain had lied; he'd kept the working comm for himself. It seemed that he didn't want Jayne talking to Zoë, nor did he want Jayne to know about the wave he was making at the moment.

Jayne managed to shout something at Zoë, just to keep up appearances, but his mind was elsewhere.

He had to figure out why this idiot captain, who'd been a bit dense but nothing but helpful throughout the two day voyage, was suddenly playing games. Jayne's cheeks heated at the unfairness of it; he had enough to worry about as it was, and now to have this added complication, even after he had taken care to be _nice_ to the man (relative to his normal manners, anyhow) was more hard blows than a man ought to take in a day.

But so it was. He had no choice but to keep moving and figure this out.

Trying to look guileless, Jayne studied the crew. Most of them seemed unaware of anything happening besides the day's regular business. Only the captain radiated nerves, with tense shoulders and a free hand tapping his leg convulsively. His eyes danced toward Jayne and quickly away again. Zoë was still busy giving instructions Jayne couldn't understand, but under the static of her voice, he caught a few more low words from captain:

…_wait at the docks. I'll delay them while we unload, then they're all yours to take…. _

Jayne felt the man's flick nervously toward him again, clearing up who exactly he meant by "they".

That settled it. For whatever reason, this ferry's captain was no longer on Jayne's side. The man meant to hand him over to someone, and it wasn't likely to be someone pleasant. The man might be doing this on Kamath's orders, or he could been an Alliance mole all along, but it didn't matter. Jayne didn't intend to be all anybody's to take.

"Uh… Zoë?" he said into his own mic, but he couldn't finish, not without being overheard. It wouldn't matter anyway. He had to handle this on his own.

.*. .*. .*.

When Inara came back out from the head, drying the damp hair around her face with a fresh towel, Simon was checking on Mal. She couldn't hear what the doctor said, but the captain's response was firm.

"I'm fine," Malcolm said. "Leave me be. I did what I had to do, and it's fine."

Simon stood and turned to her, then held out his hands helplessly.

"Leave him alone," Inara said. "And don't worry—we'll be all right. Zoë's been on Oeneus for more than a day. Her business must be finished, the delivery made. She should be free to come help us, and then we can deal with…." She looked toward Malcolm, then Will. "…all of this."

Simon wasn't convinced. "Sure. Unless she managed to destroy that mysterious cargo she was forced to carry and Kamath isn't pleased with her."

Inara sighed. "Let's hope she didn't do that."

Simon cleared his throat. "Pardon me, but I have to remind you—if Zoë went through with the delivery, a _lot_ of people could die. They could be dying right now, horribly. I don't know what those chemicals Kamath loaded onto _Serenity_ were, but they certainly weren't rice flour. That cargo could do a great deal of harm unless Zoë found a way to stop Kamath's plan. I, for one, hope she did."

Inara dropped her eyes. "I know, Simon. I didn't mean that. I just hope she's able to help us." She looked toward River. "All of us."

"Does that include me?" The woman sitting by the door suddenly spoke up. "You gonna leave me here, bound up like this?" Ginger's eyes flicked between Simon and Inara, as if she couldn't decide who was more likely to hear her out. "I ain't stupid. I know the folks running this boat must be helping you. They'll try to hide this crime by dumping Will, either in the Black or in the ocean deeps after they land. They'll do the same to me."

"Wouldn't be the worst outcome," River said with a blank face.

"River!" Simon admonished.

"She's just like the rest of them," River told her brother, her voice sharp. "She wanted to hurt us."

"Never was my aim," Ginger said, shaking her head. "I had a job to do. Didn't like all parts of it, but when do you ever like your job? It don't matter. If you're a soldier, you do what you're told."

"We can't kill her," Malcolm said faintly. "Been killing enough. We have to take her along."

"Of course we'll take her," Simon said, though his expression seemed to be pleading with Inara. "We can leave her somewhere far away, where she can't tell anyone about us until we're long gone. It won't matter then. She has nothing to tell that the Alliance doesn't already know about us."

Inara pulled her eyes away from Mal and looked down at the woman. "You're right, Simon." _I hope._ "But not for the reasons you think. I doubt this ferry's crew would harm her. They'd let her go, let her tell her superiors about us. She's more of a danger to… to us if we leave her here." She'd been about to say _to Mal_.

Ginger shook her head. "Not a thing. I got nothing at all to say about the lot of you."

River harrumphed.

_Uh… Inara?_

They all jumped at a voice crackling through the air in Jayne's familiar accent.

_I got a PA system here_, the mercenary explained unnecessarily. _Got a line straight to the penthouse. Only talks one way. But, uh, I could use some help._ His voice lowered and hissed through the speakers, as if he was trying to whisper. _I got a bit of a situation up here._

Inara met Simon's eye and they both frowned.

.*. .*. .*.

The other passengers were awake now, busy having a last snack and packing up their belongings for the arrival to Oeneus. As Inara passed through the dining room, she noticed a few of them pressing their noses against the windows and murmuring in questioning tones. She saw why: the ship was rotating, turning away from the blue world that was their destination.

A final stairway led to a door with a sign declaring: no passengers past this point, but no one tried to bar her way. Apparently, the crew was busy elsewhere, and the halls were vacant. Inara passed through the door and down a short passage, then rapped sharply on a metal door with a sign proclaiming that the bridge was on the other side. A buzzer immediately let her in.

The first thing she saw was a portly older man slumped over the counter to her left, blood staining his thin gray hair and the collar of his uniform. The rest of the small crew was herded into a corner in the back of the bridge, their hands on their heads and their eyes wild with fear. They ducked as Jayne waved his fancy little pistol in their direction.

"Yeah, we'll be needing you to meet us right quick," Jayne was yelling into a comm hand piece. "I think I pretty much wore out our welcome with this bunch. Oh, `Nara's here. Be seein' you in a few." He pulled a receiver bud out of his ear and looked toward Inara, who was checking the injured man on the floor. He was alive, but out cold.

"`Bout damned time!" Jayne yelled at her.

"I take it you have good reason for this?" she asked, her hand on the unconscious man's shoulder.

"Blame it on Zoë. She's the one got on Kamath's bad side and pissed off his pals here."

Inara looked up hopefully. "You mean she stopped the attack?"

"Guess so. Kamath's people sure aren't happy with the lot of us. But we got a plan, if you'll just cover this crowd while I set up the details."

He held out his gun toward her, but she straightened and folded her empty hands behind her. "I'm sure the weapons aren't needed here. These people are civilians. They didn't ask to take part in our… situation." The cowed workers were indeed a pitiful and helpless looking lot.

"At least one of `em meant us nothing but bad," Jayne said. He cast a glare at the still body on the console, then grabbed the man by the back of his shirt and pulled him up to something closer to sitting. "You can thank this one for givin' it away. Ought to learn to whisper more quiet-like."

The unfortunate man half-woke and groaned at the rough treatment.

"Could you please not do that?" Inara asked.

Jayne's tone turned aggressive. "This captain, and maybe them others there, wanted to hold us for Kamath's folks to come get and do gods-know-what to. I figured you wouldn't welcome that, so I'd appreciate if you didn't abuse my methods of maintainin' your personal freedom."

Inara sighed, then replied with full sarcasm: "Oh, you did this for me? That's sweet Jayne."

Jayne carelessly tossed the half-conscious man back onto the console. "Sweet's my middle name."

"Please don't feel like you need to prove it," Inara muttered. "But you've talked to Zoë? We have a plan?"

He returned to the console. "I got us on a changed course, going away from Oeneus, to the emptiest spot of space I can find._ Serenity_'ll be meetin' us in the next half hour. We just need to work out the airlock situation so we can dock up to her. I guess since you ain't playing guard, you'll have to work the machinery."

Inara again found herself shifting uncomfortably; she had no skill for that task. Jayne understood. He turned to the half dozen cowering crew members and addressed them sternly.

"Here's how it works. All you are gonna stay here with me, `cept one lucky and very well-behaved fella who gets to help the lady here make hard seal with our ride. Volunteers?"

Tentatively at first, but then with competitive eagerness, all hands rose.

.*. .*. .*.

The business end of the ferry wasn't built to supply nice views, so Jayne had to watch _Serenity_'s approach on a scanner screen. The Firefly wasn't the only thing that caught his eye; a faint blip far out from the planet made his stomach twinge nervously. But the distant passerby showed no interest in the clandestine rendezvous between an old freighter and a public service ferry; it hovered for a short spell, then moved on.

Jayne couldn't focus his attention as much as he'd have liked, given how he was guarding a huddled mob of The Enemy. A few tentative calls from the decks below didn't help; the passengers and staff had a clear view of the ferry's change of course, and they wanted to know what was happening. Jayne ignored their waves. He used the intercom system to call down to the Suite and tell the others to come up, then occupied his time making a last detailed threat to the ferry's crew. He was still expanding on his methods of dealing with those who would try to follow after escapees when he felt a slight shudder run through the hull. The airlock where Inara and her aid were working was just outside the bridge, so close that Jayne could hear contact being made.

Inara guided her crewman aide back to the bridge. Jayne followed her back out the door to find that the others had already arrived. Malcolm stood aside as the Tams scurried up a ladder to the open airlock. But Jayne's eyes fastened on the women waiting beside Malcolm.

"No way!" Jayne said. "We ain't taking her!"

Malcolm spoke up. "We leave her here, she's as good as dead. You know that."

"And I care?"

Mal's face was shadowed. "You ought to. It ain't right to kill."

"What? You feel bad about shootin' Will, so you're gonna put it on me? Well, I ain't lost my sense, and I know there ain't no way this woman ought to step foot on your ship!"

"Jayne!" Inara warned, and Jayne realized what he'd just said.

Luckily, Malcolm didn't. His mind was on other things, on them enough that he kept his calm despite the way Jayne was jawing at him. "I did what was needed," Malcolm said with a slow shake of his head. "But there's no call for doin' more. Won't be any harm in taking her along." His voice firmed up. "Now, let's stop with the jawin' and move out. "

Not waiting for any argument, Malcolm turned his back on Jayne and pushed the woman toward the ladder. She went up awkwardly but quietly, and Inara following just behind.

Jayne stared at Malcolm for a moment. "Gotta be partway back," he muttered to himself, then he raised his voice. "**Diyu,** fine. Get on up. I'll be along behind ya."

He ducked into the bridge one last time so he could have some partings words, then he fired a few rounds into the comm system just to make sure no one broke orders. Finally, he made his own exit from the ferry, sealing the airlock behind him.

In truth, he was glad to be going back to _Serenity_, even if he wasn't happy with all the company he was bringing with him.

.*. .*. .*.

Translation

mèi bái chī: blind idiot


	16. Chapter 16

**Back Stories III: Chapter 16  
**By mal4prez

_

* * *

The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money._

* * *

Simon slid the door shut on his sister, leaving her asleep in the quiet, peaceful shadows of her dorm room. He didn't go far; after two steps he stopped to stare into the brightly lit bunk across the hall. Inside, a woman was tightly bound to a narrow chair. Though Simon didn't trust Ginger, and though he feared what she might do if she knew who he and his sister were, he felt no particular resentment toward her. He felt no need to take vengeance, or to treat her with contempt.

Unlike Jayne. The mercenary's bile towards the captured Alliance agent had been clear from the moment the man woke up on the ferry. Jayne was carrying a chip big enough to make Simon worry, given the merc's tendency to act out his resentments through brute force. Simon stepped into the room to find that his fears had not been unfounded; as he'd suspected, Ginger's hands were already a dark purple-red, circulation nearly cut off by the tight knots Jayne had tied in the cords.

"I can loosen these," Simon offered cautiously, "but only if you don't try anything."

Ginger hadn't acknowledged his presence with so much as a look, and her face remained as blank as a poker player's. Her eyes focused on a point behind the wall in front of her, but she took the trouble to reply. "You got nothing to worry on," she said mildly. "There's nowhere I wanna go."

Simon wasn't convinced. "I'm not the only one watching this room. You wouldn't get far."

Her tone continued to be bland, as if she didn't care either way. "Imagine not."

He stood still for another moment, then sighed, crouched behind the chair, and began tugging at the knots. "We had a government agent in this room before," he found himself muttering as he worked. "He nearly killed Kaylee, though she'd done nothing wrong. Then he went after..." He didn't let himself finish; he shouldn't have said so much.

"Man must have had a mission," Ginger mused.

"Just like you."

"Not anymore."

The knots finally gave way. "Because Will is dead?"

She didn't reply. Simon pulled the sleeves of her dark jacket down to cover the raw skin of her wrists, then retied the knots in a more humane way.

He stopped at the door and looked back, trying to read Ginger's vacant profile. Simon knew what it was to be a stranger in a hostile place, to have to wear a mask in the hope of hiding fear and doubt. Despite her coldness and her less than stellar history with _Serenity_'s crew, Simon realized that he felt pity, even sympathy for the woman.

"I'm not sure what it is you're after," he said softly, "but I know what you must think of us. You're wrong. We're not criminals… we don't intend to be, anyway. We're not bad. We mean no one harm."

She didn't respond, but he thought he saw a tightening around her eyes, a down-turn in the corners of her mouth.

"Believe me or not," he said, "that's your choice. Either way, I'll see to it that you're not harmed while you're here, and you'll get off this ship somewhere that you can get back home, wherever home is."

She still made no reply, so he turned away.

Simon found Shepherd Book sitting outside the infirmary, keeping watch on the dorms. "How's our guest?" the preacher asked.

"Settled in," Simon replied. "She doesn't have much to say. She puts up a good act, but I don't quite believe it. She must be frightened to be here, alone, captured by the people who killed her partner."

.*. .*. .*.

"So he's dead?" Zoë asked Inara. She glanced at Wash, then leaned forward with her elbows on the dining room table. "Really and completely?"

Inara and Jayne both nodded in reply, though only Inara spoke. "And Mal did it. I mean _Mal_, not Malcolm. For a second, for just a second it was as if he was there. I saw it in his eyes." Inara found herself staring into the shadows of the aft hallway, trying to make out movement. She appreciated that she'd moved up in the ship's pecking order, and now seemed welcome in Zoë'sdiscussion of the ship's plans, but her mind was focused on the engine room at the end of the hall, where Kaylee and Malcolm had disappeared.

Zoë was cautious about the news of Malcolm's progress. "That Takara cap Simon's had him wearing might have done something good, but it didn't take for long. He seems the same as he was before you all got on the ferry."

"I dunno `bout that," Jayne called out from the galley. "There's somethin'. He ain't quite the pretty pansy he's been."

Inara pulled her attention back into the dining room; Kaylee could be trusted to take care of Malcolm—or Mal. Whoever the man was today. "But I'm not sure that the change is good," she told Zoë. "He's not reacting well to the shooting. Malcolm, the young man Mal thinks he is, doesn't believe in killing."

Zoë nodded. "I recall the first time he shot somebody, back in the war."

"At least then he had a cause."

"He had plenty of cause this time," Wash said. "After all Will's done."

"But Malcolm doesn't know what Will did," Inara said with a sigh. "That's the problem."

.*. .*. .*.

"You all right?" Kaylee asked Malcolm. She'd slung her hammock in the engine room during the trip from New Melbourne, and she sat in it now, her feet braced against the floor so she could rock herself slowly back and forth. Malcolm stood on the far side of the whirling engine with his back to her, poking idly at any convenient protuberance sticking out of the bulkhead.

"Don't I seem all right?" he asked.

She shrugged. That wasn't a question she could answer, given that the captain hadn't seemed all right to her in weeks. But there were many shades of "not right", and the one that colored him now was new to her. New, and hard to figure. The young Malcolm Reynolds had become just as hard a nut to crack as the older one used to be. She was going to have to go at this sideways to get him to talk.

"So, how was the ferry ride?" she asked innocently.

"Interesting."

"Eventful?"

"Not for most of it."

"But then…?"

"Got crazy."

"Crazy?"

He nodded, then shrugged and went back to poking at engine's workings, thankfully the currently idle ones.

Kaylee huffed out a quick breath. Apparently, she'd have to set an example. "Well, let me tell you about my past two days on _Serenity_." She raised her eyes to the ceiling as she began to piece the events together. "Spent time in the galley, then got to Oeneus orbit. Hung out with Alliance types for a spell, and we lost our precious goods. Got to Oeneus planetside and drank fancy cocktails with 'freedom fighters' for another spell." She pulled her eyebrows together, dropped her eyes, and frowned. "Then they were shootin' at us and we were runnin'. But we got away and came to pick you up."

Malcolm turned to give her a nod of appreciation. "Not bad," he said of her summary. "My curiosity is fully piqued. Details?"

She smiled and shook her head. "Nope. First, it's your turn."

He sat down and looked thoughtful for a long moment. His preparation was longer than his reply. "Launched in the ferry and saw a world. Saw the Black. Played games. Ate junk food. Got hit on. Got kidnapped and threatened. Got fed up and killed the bastard who annoyed me. Snuck out an airlock and got back here."

Kaylee considered his summary for a moment. "I think you win, cause I'm dying to know more. You gotta go back over a few of those again."

She was encouraged that he didn't flat out refuse.

.*. .*. .*.

Simon settled on one of the chairs in the common room so he and Book could catch each other up on their separate journeys to Oeneus. Though so much had happened, Simon found himself focusing on the captain's condition.

"Mal's in a delicate position right now," Simon explained. "He's healing, and I think he's beginning to recall small things. If we could just protect him, keep him in a safe environment for a few days, his memory might stabilize."

"He'd be back to his old self?" Book asked.

"I can't say that he'll be completely unaffected by what's happened. I can tell you this much: what happens over the next few days is vital. Regaining all his memories could be incredibly traumatic. We have to minimize the stress as much as possible."

"Then it's a shame we can't be going somewhere safe."

Simon gave Book a questioning look; the Shepherd's face was grim as he explained, "We have to go back to Oeneus."

.*. .*. .*.

"Why?" Inara demanded. "Why in the world would you risk going back?"

Zoë didn't like the accusation in Inara's question. "We have no choice," she replied with a little bristle, but Wash, with apatienttone, took over the explaining.

"We're out of fuel," he said. "We filled up on New Melbourne, but I burned through all of it getting here on Kamath's schedule. We're barely drifting now, and we'll be on fumes going down through atmo."

"Can't we buy fuel in orbit?" Inara asked.

"Too risky," Zoë said with a shake of her head. "Orbital platforms ask for ID, got Alliance all about. Wash found some kind of rough resort town on the far side from the main city and the Alliance base. That ought to do well enough."

Wash nodded with optimistic eagerness. "As far as I could learn from the locals, Kamath's battle with the Alliance's hired guns—the Tan He—hasn't reached the boonies yet. We should be able to set down and fuel up quick, then get out. Might be that no one ever knows we were there."

"Speaking of Kamath…" Jayne prompted. He set down at the table with a mug in his hand, forging his heavy-handed way into the conversation. "What the hell happened `tween you and his people?" He raised a speculative eye to Wash, then, with a mix of hesitance and blame, turned to Zoë.

Wash sighed and tipped his head toward his wife. "Go ahead," he said. "You tell it."

Zoë nodded; it'd go faster that way, and they didn't have much time before landing. "We got to the world with some idea of what we were carrying," she said, "and a plan as to how to stop it from doing what it was meant for. We also got here on schedule, just barely, thanks to my man at the helm." She gave him an appreciative nod. "But we didn't make the meeting in time."

"You see," Wash interjected with an _aren't-we-clever_ sparkle in his eyes, "we were a bit held up in customs."

"I thought I was telling it?" Zoë said, not unkindly. Wash held out a hand to her, palm up, acquiescing the honors, and she went on. "Customs called us in to their orbital platform and kept us there for some time. So, through no fault of our own, we were a few hours late at the drop-off rendezvous."

"So Kamath's people were angry?" Inara asked.

"Not as angry as I was," Zoë replied, and she grinned. She couldn't deny herself a moment of pleasant recollection.

.*. .*. .*.

_Zoë barely takes in her surroundings as she strides out the shuttle's open hatch: she's left the ship hidden in the countryside and landed the shuttle in a well manicured residential area just north of the main city. She notes a large house of gray brick and smoked glass, a wide green lawn, and flowerbeds before she focuses on the people gathered to give the shuttle an unfriendly welcome. She makes a direct line to the nearest gun-wielding goon and shoves him in the shoulder. Hard._

"_What the hell are you people up to?" She glares at him and each of his cohorts before settling on the one with the tidiest outfit as the most likely leader of the gang. "Kamath forces me to carry your goods, tells me I'll have no problem getting it on-world, then he gives me away to customs? What kind of game are you playing?" _

_The dapper fellow is indeed in charge. He isn't visibly armed, but appears quite sure of himself. He motions to one of his men to check the shuttle, then eyes Zoë with suspicion and more than a little confusion. "Pardon me?"_

"_You won't find a thing in there!" Zoë calls to the grunt, then she turns back to the leader. "Those customs agents knew exactly what to go for. Rice flour won't be a problem, huh? Well, they took it. Held up me and mine for hours, asking what the stuff is. Made some unkind threats about our potential loss of personal freedom and worldly goods. Only let us go because they didn't find anything in those bags but flour. Was there actually anything in there, or was this damned job you forced on me all a setup?"_

_The guard steps off the shuttle and shakes his head at the leader, who tenses and makes an attempt to snatch up the reins of the confrontation. "Where's your ship?" he demands. "Where is our cargo?"_

_Zoë doesn't give any ground. "Are them bags really what you're after? I have my doubts." Ignoring the guns aimed her way, she walks right up to the man and pokes him in the chest. "You want my ship, don't you? That 'cargo' was just the excuse to get it here, right? Well, I think not. She's tucked away where you won't be seeing her until I get a damned good explanation."  
_

_The man's face wrinkles up in disgust. "I don't give a tinker's damn about your pathetic freighter. We need that cargo. We need it right now!"_

_Zoë folds her arms. "If that's the case, you'd best go talk to customs."_

.*. .*. .*.

"Of course, he eventually convinced me to call the ship over," Zoë told Inara and Jayne. "You know, since his men were armed and I was on my own and all helpless and all." She grinned sidelong. "They thought themselves very scary and I let them go ahead and believe it. But I held out long enough for Wash, Book, and Kaylee to finish up their work with the cargo."

"What work?" Inara asked. "Wasn't the cargo taken in customs?"

.*. .*. .*.

"I'll explain that in good time," the smiling Shepherd told an impatient Simon.

.*. .*. .*.

"Have we told you where this delivery was being made?" Wash asked Inara. "No, of course we haven't. It was a very shiny little estate. And when I say _shiny_, I mean it actually shone. Had its own pool and gardens with glowing white statuary. Likely an indoor bocce lawn too, I'm guessing. I tell you, if I ever join an underground militia of rebels, I want it to be this one."

"As far as hiding from authorities, a pretty house ain't a bad idea if you can afford it," Zoë explained, now too caught up in the telling to hurry past all the details. "Tight security in a place like that passes as the paranoia of the obscenely wealthy. Anyhow, after a bit I let them think they'd bullied me properly, and I waved the ship. Wash set _Serenity_ down on their nice landing pad and those folks went aboard. They combed through it, top to toe-hairs."

"Whoever they are, they know a Firefly," Wash said. "They searched every nook, found every hidey-hole that the customs agents missed." He grinned. "Didn't find a thing."

Zoë tipped her head and shared a look of amusement with Wash. "Well, they found a few items that on a different day might have led to some interesting discussions. Including some tidbits in your cabin, Jayne."

The mercenary looked up, his face innocent outrage. "What d'ya mean? They took my stuff?"

Zoë shook her head. "Only mocked it a bit. Lucky for you, they were after one thing only: their cargo. And they didn't find it."

.*. .*. .*.

_Wash, Kaylee and Book follow the inspectors through the ship; the crew is wanted on hand to unlock cabinets and pry open rusty hinges, including the hatches to the water and sewage tanks. It isn't a fun search, and it takes a shockingly long time. _

_Eventually, with more than a little obvious frustration, the searchers give up. Night is falling when they lead the three crew members across the lawn and into the large house where Zoë is waiting for them in a spacious sitting room. Wash catches Zoë's eye immediately and smiles just enough to let her know that their plan is working. He sits and starts to explain, but a well dressed middle aged man promptly enters the room. _

_The man, the same who'd greeted Zoë's arrival, sits down at the long, dark wooden table across from them and folds his hands. _

"_Refreshments?" he asks._

_The four of them exchange looks, then Zoë answers. "We might have a bite, depending on what's offered."_

"_More than a bite, I hope." The man waves a hand at the hovering guards. One leaves the room, another slings his gun over his shoulder and goes to a small but well-stocked bar._

"_I find myself in an awkward situation," the man says, mainly addressing Zoë, though he allows his gaze to wander over Wash, Kaylee, and Book as well. "I need that cargo. Badly. It's already overdue and our window of opportunity is passing. It isn't on your ship, and you did indeed spend a great deal of time in orbital customs. The records we're able to access indicate that something was taken from your hold." He looked up as the guard-turned-bartender returns with a tray holding a pitcher of clear liquid and five small V-shaped glasses. "Ah—thank you, Ortiz." _

_The man returns to his post and the dapper man continues his explanation as he pours. "I'm not only distressed at losing my cargo. It worries me that you were called in for inspection at all. That shouldn't have happened. As my colleague Kamath must have explained to you, we have a few connections here. Your ship should have passed with no delays. But I should introduce myself. My name is Steven__**s**__. I head operations here in the city."_

"_Operations of what?" Zoë asks._

"_That's information you might not want to have." His voice holds a broad hint of warning, and something almost like a dare. "You've been here before. You must be aware of the value of information on this world, and the extreme methods the Tan He will use to get it." He takes a full glass off the tray and lifts it. "__Gān bēi__."_

_Zoë ignores his toast, as do the other three. "That's very nice, Stevens, but I prefer to know about the web I've found myself tangled in. Ignorance ain't never been my friend."_

_Unperturbed by drinking alone, he sips his beverage, then sets the glass on the table. His lip curls in a small smile. "I expected as much. In one way the fates have been kind to me: you and your crew have skills that I find interesting, and, hopefully, useful. If you are indeed a soldier at heart, Mrs. Washbourn, this encounter may end up benefitting us both."_

_Zoë silently holds Stevens's eye while a guard returns to the room with a tray of small sandwiches and neatly cut vegetables. The "waiter" sets the food in front of Kaylee and Book; the mechanic fidgets but doesn't reach for it. She raises her eyes and waitg for Zoë's decision. _

_As soon as the servant steps back, Zoë takes up a waiting glass. She takes a sip of the clear concoction and rolls the fine alcohol on her tongue before swallowing it down. _

"_Tell us about your problems, Stevens," she says evenly. "We'll see what we can do to help."_

.*. .*. .*.

"Psittacosis," the Shepherd told Simon.

"Psittacosis? That's unpleasant." Simon thought about it. "But difficult to spread. In fact, I'm not sure how it could be effective as a weapon. There are deadlier options, and easier. This would be very difficult to deliver."

"Not with the proper method. We weren't carrying the bacteria itself, only the powder it would be combined with before being released."

"How do you mean?"

"Apparently, the bacteria on its own wouldn't stay airborne long. What we carried, mixed in the flour, was a sort of molecular delivery system."

"Ah!" Simon said as understanding dawned. His early education, his chemistry and general biology classes, weren't so far away as to be forgotten. "Probably a low weight oligomer. It would bond with the bacteria and carry it through the air, keeping it inert until it was ingested. It could stay suspended for days in a still, indoor environment, and a measurable portion of it would pass through air filters. But the process of separating the propellant from the flour we carried, then combining it with the psittacosis, is incredibly sophisticated. And expensive. Very expensive. Who in the `verse paid for this?"

Book shrugged, then sat thoughtfully "It would appear that Kamath has some wealthy backers."

"Wealthy, and ruthless," Simon said. "Psittacosis normally has a fatality rate of less than one percent, but that's with an ordinary infection level. It takes several days, perhaps a week, before symptoms show. Released this way, it would be inhaled for days and the concentration could get incredibly high before anyone knew about it. It could be quite deadly, even in otherwise healthy people."

Book eyes opened in surprise. "That's not what Stevens told us. He said no one would die, that the illness would be debilitating for a few days, long enough to disrupt operations, but that's all."

"Either he was lying or he was an idiot. Do you know where he planned to release it?"

.*. .*. .*.

Zoë's face was grim. "The hospital."

"Hospital?" Inara asked, shocked. "How could they make people sick at a hospital?"

"Well," Jayne said with a shrug, "there is a certain convenience."

They all glared at him, but couldn't disagree.

"Ain't just any hospital," Zoë went on. "This is the one built as part of the new Alliance base. It connects right over to the hold for prisoners. It's the same place where they did their work on Mal."

"The hospital I went into?' Jayne asked. "To get him out?"

"Same one."

Jayne clucked wistfully. "Good cafeteria."

Zoë ignored him. "These rebels know what the Tan He, under the Alliance's orders, have been up to out there, and it's more than what they did to Mal. Oeneus is a good place for certain _experiments_ that need to happen away from the prying eyes of the Core, such as inventive ways to figure out what a person knows. Kamath's plan with that bacteria of his was to draw eyes out to the Rim, to make the civilized folk in the Core take a long look at this particular Border world."

Wash spoke up. "Security's higher in the base, so they planned on releasing the bacteria in the hospital. Ventilation would transfer it over to the military buildings. Air passes through security checkpoints, even if people can't."

"It wasn't a bad plan," Zoë said, "as far as meeting their goals. They'd have shut down operations on the base, and also would have laid up enough innocents to make headlines in far away worlds that ain't usually interested."

Jayne was eyeing Zoë doubtfully. "This Stevens guy really told you all this? Gave away all the details of his plans?"

Zoë nodded. "The man had some worries as to who gave up word of our cargo to customs. Seems that double agents aren't a new concern for him. He questioned me right and left about everything Kamath had told us, and everything that'd happened in customs. He particularly wanted to know the layout of the orbital platform, the security we'd faced. The crazy bastard was ready to go up in orbit and storm the place to get his goods. And he wanted our help."

Wash was still in a mood to be pleased with their cleverness. "You should have seen my wife, Inara. She had them going! They were ready to turn over operations to her entirely, sign her up for the gang. And she came up with a plan that would have worked!"

"Nah," Zoë said. "Thank you kindly, Wash, but the plan was shoddy at best. I talked big, like I believed it, but I was watching the clock. I hoped to win him over enough to let us go fuel up and somehow get you all when the ferry landed, then cut out and hit the Black double-time."

"We all know that didn't work," Jayne said with a scoff. "He found you out, then called the ferry and told the captain to take it out on us. So which of you blew it?"

"Wasn't any of us," Wash said defensively. "We almost pulled it off. We finished happy hour and were heading across the lawn to _Serenity_, talking final details and payment—they were going to _pay_ us—when a wave came through. Stevens took the liberty of intercepting a call that wasn't meant for him, and he heard details that should have been for our ears only."

"It was customs," Zoë said. "They were happy to report that the paperwork on our cargo had cleared, and we could come pick up our goodies."

Wash dropped his head. "And that got the word out that the 'goodies' were not the ones Steven was after."

"Hunh?" Jayne grunted.

.*. .*. .*.

"Our stop at the orbital customs office had been no accident," Book told Simon. "We took care to make sure they'd call us in for an inspection before we could enter atmo. You see, an ill-timed joke can quickly draw the attention of custom agents. In my assumed role as captain of the ship, I was talking to the traffic control, arranging our passage to the surface, when Wash spoke up behind me."

.*. .*. .*.

Wash grinned and yelled out: "Hide the horny-making drugs!"

.*. .*. .*.

"Customs agents don't have much of a sense of humor," Book said dryly.

"The Horny. Making. Drugs," Simon repeated. "They called you in because of that?"

"And they meant to make us pay for taking such a situation lightly."

.*. .*. .*.

Zoë patted Wash's arm fondly. "He timed it perfectly. We were held up for some time while the authorities searched the ship."

"To the best of their abilities," Wash said, disgust evident in his voice. "Stevens's crew did a much better job. But the customs officials managed to find something, with our help. You might not be shocked to find that they didn't like it, and they took it away."

"Not the flour?" Inara asked, confused.

Zoë shrugged, then grinned. "They didn't care at all about the flour. What they glommed onto made them mock us more than fear us." She turned to the mercenary. "I am very sorry about your loss, Jayne. I know you were growing fond of it."

"You don't mean…"

She nodded. "Badger's selesta."

"But that stuff worked!" Jayne protested.

Zoë arched a brow at him.

"It wasn't… it wasn't like I tried it on purpose. Got a sample from one of the buyers is all." His face lit up with a warm memory. "Wasn't the only free sample I got that day."

Zoë shook her head as if clearing it of unwanted imaginings. "Anyhow, I argued about the selesta for some time, and them agents were happy to keep me around until they thought my attitude suitably adjusted, my remorse heartfelt. It made for a believable delay."

"Of course," Wash said, "once Stevens figured out that we'd been playing him, he wasn't happy. Oh, sorry dear." He bowed his head and let his wife finish.

"It took some fast running and dodging of bullets, but fortunately we were near the ship by the time the truth came out. It also helped that we were at his pretty safe house near the city. They didn't want a Firefly exploding on that property and calling attention. Likely, that's a big part of why we got away. Oh, and of course my man at the helm." She patted Wash's arm.

"Thank you." He returned her pat and smiled broadly. "See—my wife appreciates me."

Zoë leaned back in her seat and folded her hands over her stomach. "Jayne waved from the ferry just as we were lighting out of there. The rest you know."

"Almost," Inara said. "You still haven't explained a few things."

"What happened to the flour?" Zoë guessed.

"Well, yes. But also…"

.*. .*. .*.

"Who are these people?" Simon asked Book. "This world may be developing quickly, but it is not at all well known. There are no commodities here worth defending. It's not on any major transportation lines. I'll bet that most people in the Core have never even heard of Oeneus. So why was so much expense put into this attack? Who is so interested in this new Alliance base, and what exactly are they after?"

Book didn't take the question lightly; his brow furrowed and he stared down into his folded hands. "Zoë and I chatted about that during the brief time we had coming out to get you from the ferry. It's not at all clear. But I'll tell one thing: I had a chance to talk to some of those fighting the fight. While Zoë and Wash did their planning with Stevens, I kept company of my own."

Simon bent forward, his elbows on his knees. "With who?" he asked.

"No one important. A man holding a gun, apparently one who'd gotten his post because he could shoot as well as mix a decent drink. He was young, this fellow. To my eyes, anyhow. But he had things to say that I listened to.

"He talked of his world, of the things he'd lost since he was young. He talked of the Oeneus he'd seen as a child, of the changes that had come in the decades since. He described the new power moving in, the rules they'd posted. He told me about being helpless to fight a government with dozens of worlds behind it.

"I felt for him, truth be told. I've spent much of my life in the Core, and I've seen how power can be abused. The larger the organization, the easier it is to lose one's aim. And the Alliance certainly is big." Book's eyes were shadowed. "Things can get blurry, even for those who mean to do nothing but good."

Simon studied the Shepherd. "You were drawn to this rebel's cause?" It was an innocent question, not an accusation. With Simon's history, he couldn't blame the old man for such a temptation.

But Book only sat back and shook his head. "No. I believe in taking action, but within reason. Attacking a hospital is never right. If we allow the sins of others to excuse our actions… well, that's a dark road to travel."

.*. .*. .*.

To Kaylee's frustration, Malcolm wouldn't speak of the seduction he'd mentioned in his brief summary of his voyage to Oeneus. However, after some gentle prodding, he did tell of the killing. He seemed almost eager to share the weight of it with her.

"I could draw a picture," he said softly. He leaned against the end of the engine and blindly focused on the panels over Kaylee's left shoulder. "I could show you the surprise in that man's eyes. The shock. Can you imagine dyin' like that? Not even a minute to think about the life you're losing. Just a bare split second, staring into the barrel of a gun, to know it's all over."

Kaylee didn't know what to say. Her mouth fell open, but she could think of no comfort to offer him.

"I can't know," Malcolm went on, shaking his head. "I can't ever know who he might of spoken of. I can't know if he had a family, a wife and children, if there was a mother who might'a wanted one last word of love. I can't speculate on friends who might be wondering, even now, where he's got to."

Kaylee finally found her voice. "You can't do that," she said. "You can't be inventing all that."

"Inventing?" Malcolm said, and his eyes fixed on her. "What am I making up? Who lives in this `verse without touching someone else? Who can meet their end, all sudden like that, without causing pain?"

"There might be some!" Kaylee said. She surprised herself with the vehemence of her words.

"You know one or two?"

She slumped into the hammock, sinking down between her shoulders. "I might."

"You're wrong."

"No," she said, her voice now soft. "I can't explain it, Malcolm, but if you think anything of me I need you to trust me about this. There's some folks just… some folks are meant to die." He raised his head and drew in breath, but she went on before he could stop her, her cheeks heating as her words jumbled out in a thick pile. "I don't like it any more than you do, but that's how it is. It ain't fair that God leaves the likes of you and me to make that decision, but like my daddy used to say, life ain't fair." The words tasted like bile on her tongue. "There's some huài wáng bā dàn mean to do nothing but harm, and sometimes they have to die so the rest of us can have peace."

"No!" he said. "That ain't true. This one didn't have to. I could have aimed elsewhere. I was a meter away and I could have got him down without killing him. It wasn't needed. But I did it anyhow. I don't know why I did it. All I know is that I hated him. I heard his voice and saw him with his hands all over her and I knew I wanted him dead. I chose to kill him. I did it, straight up. I killed him when I didn't have to."

Kaylee felt a blade cut through her heart at his words; the sentiment was too familiar, the argument one she'd been having with herself for months. She pushed up to her feet and stepped forward to grab him by the ears and force his eyes to meet hers. "You listen to me, Malcolm Reynolds. If there's ever a human being that needed to be sent to his maker, it was that Will. I know your head is mixed up and you might not see it, but I am telling you here and now to stop beating yourself for it. That man hurt people, hurt `em bad. You did what was right!"

_And me?_ she asked herself. _Did I make the right choice with Ray?_

Malcolm's eyes, blue surrounded with red, searched hers. "Did he hurt you?"

"Inara. He went after Inara." Kaylee wasn't sure which "he" she meant.

Slowly, Malcolm raised his hands to hers, and he pulled his head free of her grasp. To her relief, he didn't push her away, but let her settle against the rough red twill of his shirt.

"He might have changed," Malcolm said. "I took the chance away from him."

"The man was not a child," Kaylee replied firmly. So much bitterness encased her heart that she couldn't relax, but remained tense in his arms. "He could'a changed earlier in his life. He chose not to. That ain't your fault."

"You sound like you know."

"I do. I know it well. I've fought my own battles, Malcolm."

"You came through."

"Workin' on it."

She felt a caress above her forehead; he'd tilted his head to set his cheek against her hair. "Just look at you. You live out here, you see these things, and you're still like a cheery bit of what life's supposed to be. I can only hope to weather my own journey so well."

"You think… you think I'm doing well?"

"You take in a wanderer like me, an aimless, grumpy old man, and you believe nothing but good of me. That ain't nothing Kaylee."

Her eyes opened wide for a second, his words flooding her with confusion. That couldn't be just the boy Malcolm talking. The thought that the captain might hold her in such high regard melted the hard knot that had formed inside her. She closed her eyes, exhaled long and slow, and finally relaxed against him. She found herself patted his back.

"You'll get through it too," she said.

He sighed. "If you say so."

"And one other thing—you ain't never been grumpy. Just… confused."

He didn't answer, other than tightening his arms around her, and she let him hold her in the dark. She knew embraces, and she what this one was about. She also knew what it was not about.

She raised her chin, went up on her toes, and kissed his cheek softly. "If you love her," she said in a whisper, "you ought to tell her."

He looked away and didn't reply.

.*. .*. .*.

Translations

Gān bēi: Cheers

huài wáng bā dàn: evil sons of bitches


	17. Chapter 17

**Back Stories III: Chapter 17  
**By mal4prez

_

* * *

The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money._

* * *

Living on _Serenity_ taught a person to maintain a certain attitude in the face of imminent danger. When every day brought hazards in spades, a man had to learn when to let it all go. A breath of clean desert-mountain air, a puff of breeze to lift one's hair, a peaceful blue sky over a quaint valley of tall pines, gold-green aspen, and solidly build wooden homes: these things Wash could pause to enjoy, though all the hounds of hell may very well be nipping at his heels.

Kaylee also had a talent for basking in a convenient moment. She took to the clean, warm air and cheery, bright sun of Oeneus as if she'd never known anything less. _Serenity_'s mechanic stood next to Wash at the edge of the fueling station, a wide stony platform carved into the rock at the side of a low valley. Her eyes climbed the show-topped grey mountain peaks to the west before returning to the town before her, and she drank in the scenery as if she was parched for such innocent, natural beauty.

"How d'you think all them rocks got to be how they are?" she asked.

A string of half-remembered geologic terms passed through Wash's mind before he dismissed them. The sharp ridges and precarious boulders of red-gold sandstone jutting up in lines across the small valley seemed as comfortably at home as the buildings and trees nestled between them. They needed no technical explanations.

"The gods and goddesses of Oeneus must have wanted it this way," he finally replied.

"Yeah, must have. Right cute town, ain't it?"

Kaylee fidgeted while she talked. Wash could see that her feet were itching to explore this place, and he could sympathize. Between them the fence opened on an inviting flight of stairs leading down to the village where, not much more than a hundred meters away, a handful of flat-topped roofs rose above the trees. The town's center, though rough-hewn, surely held some attractions: shops, cafes with homemade sweets, possibly an inn with a comfy dining room. Nothing polished, but all of it built and run by locals who, Wash mused, likely took more personal pride in their business than the head manager of the most exquisite resort in the Core.

Kaylee thoughts must have mirrored his own. "Not many places like this left in the `verse," she said wistfully.

The sounds of a fuel pump finally powering up called Wash's attention aside. The black-skinned, strong armed woman who ran this station was moving fast and sure. She stood before a large steel panel set into the chiseled back wall of the platform, adjusting unlabeled knobs and levers with a practiced hand. When the machinery was idling to her satisfaction, she hoisted a thick fuel line over her shoulder and trudged toward _Serenity_. The hose unreeled from the wall behind her as she went. Wash hurried across the platform to help her, but she waved him off.

"I told you that I got it," she said cheerfully. "Pleased to have the opportunity to practice my trade, if you'll stand aside and let me."

Kaylee had followed Wash; she met his eye with a smile and they stepped back.

"You'll be staying to see the sights I take it?" the woman called out.

Kaylee looked over the valley again, her eyes lit with yearning, but Wash replied first. "Sadly, no," he said. "We're in a bit of a hurry." He scanned the clear skies around the town and, as his full awareness of the reunited crew's situation returned, his enjoyment of the day diminished. The pure blue of the horizon could reveal an approaching ship at any second. It might be the Alliance, it might be Kamath's gang of vengeful terrorists, it might be local sky cops investigating an unauthorized landing on the world. Any of these possibilities would be disastrous to the crew of _Serenity_.

"That's a shame," the woman said as she yanked at the line, getting some slack before she made the connection to the fuel intake valve on the ship's underbelly. "The sights are surely worth seein'."

"I bet they are," Kaylee said. "You got yourself a pretty little town. Here, let me hold that open for ya."

This time, the woman made no complaint about the offered aid. "I won't disagree with you about my home," she said with some pride. "I been here since the main road was cleared of pine. I seen this place flooded clean with spring run-off twice in the decade since, but nature ain't never hampered progress for long."

"Twice?" Kaylee asked, providing the opening the woman seemed to want.

"Och! That first time was the worst, seein' as we had no expectation of it. But since then…"

Wash saw that the stories would be coming out while the ladies took care of the fueling, but his own attention was pulled aside. Inara had appeared on the ramp, making herself visible in that tactful but impossible to ignore way she had. She'd managed to outfit herself in a full skirt and fitted top; neither were up to Core world standards of fashion, but on the back side of a rough Border world she would stand out as a woman of means. She looked toward Wash with the air of one with business on her mind, so he left the two mechanics to their small talk.

"Do you have an amount yet?" Inara asked as soon as he joined her at the bottom on the ramp.

Wash shook his head. "Won't know until we're tanked up, but it'll be pricey. We were running completely dry and fuel doesn't come cheap out here."

She looked aside, her expression one of worry. "I see."

"Do you have enough?"

She nodded, though her eyes were doubtful. "Probably. But there won't be very much money left and we have no idea where we're going. How long will it take to finish here?"

"At least an hour. Probably more." He lowered his voice so he wouldn't offend the woman running the station. "This equipment isn't the newest. It'll run slow."

"Then I have time. This village is a tourist destination of sorts. They must have a bank with access to Core systems." She took in Wash's warning look and reached out a placating hand. "It's all right. I have anonymous accounts. No one will be able to trace it."

With a warm smile and a few friendly words, Inara interrupted Kaylee's conversation to ask the local woman about banks in the village. Directions to the town's center were promptly given, as well as a detailed recommendation as to which bank and even which bank employee was the best to deal with.

Wash followed Inara across the platform toward the stairs leading to the settlement. He found himself nervously scanning the empty skies again; he wasn't fully comfortable with Inara's plan. It held too many chances for delays.

"Um… Inara?" he called after her. She paused just as she stepped onto the stairs, but Wash was prevented from sharing his fears. A livelier presence drew Inara's eyes away from him.

"Ah, blue skies and fresh air!" Malcolm said as he strode down the ship's ramp, a blissful smile on his face. "I don't suppose we're staying here long?"

"Not at all," Wash called out firmly. "And I'm pretty sure that you should—"

Malcolm's voice rose over the pilot's. "Course it don't make sense to stay. We got to get our business done as quick as we can." He nearly broke into a jog as he passed Wash. "Hey there, Miss! You off into town?"

Inara nodded. "Actually yes. Errands to run."

"You ought not go by your lonesome."

Inara's eyes flicked toward Wash; she had to know his opinion of this shift in the crew's arrangements, but she didn't seem to share the pilot's worries. She smiled brightly at Malcolm and held out an arm. "Are you offering to accompany me?"

"My pleasure, ma'am."

Wash frowned after them. "Be back in a half hour!" he yelled like a nervous father. "No later!" Their linked arms and retreating backs showed no sign of concern for his advice.

Wash turned to find Kaylee watching with a very different expression than his, something hopeful and so close to joy that she had to hold a hand over her mouth to stop her happiness from bursting out. She watched Malcolm and Inara disappear into the trees below, then her eyes sparkled at Wash for barely a second before she turned back to the ship's business.

The fuel lady wasn't at all interested in the relationship dynamics of the ship's crew. The line was firmly connected by now and the fuel was running, leaving her free to express her full pride in her hometown.

"It really don't make any sense to come clear out this side of the world without spending time," she said, standing with arms crossed and eyes cast over the small valley. "Ought to spare an hour for the caverns at least."

"Caverns?" Kaylee asked.

"Didn't you know? They's the reason this place went from a few shacks to the thrivin' town it is now. Took some doing, too. Used to be you had to crawl through some damned tight spots to get down to the clear pools and glowing white walls, but now we got a big opening built. It's just up the valley there, on the far side of the creek." She pointed, but the direction wasn't necessary. A large, rough-hewn sign advertising tours of the cavern was mounted on the far rise of the valley, though trees and brush hid the actual entrance from view.

"We got a ramp down into the main tunnel," the woman continued. "I helped build the roadway, made nice smooth pavement so visitors like yourself could have a comfy ride while lookin' at the shiny formations."

Kaylee was delighted at the idea. "They got a tram goes through?"

"Had to have one, since walking the length would take some time. It's a big bunch of tunnels and halls and what-have-you, all full of strange-looking rocks just as otherworldly as can be. Some are like taffy pulled till it shines, some are as frail as lace on a ballgown, and some are big and solid as pillars of marble."

"I'd like to see that!" Kaylee called out, not in a plaintive whine like she'd used if she _really_ wanted to go—she knew the crew's situation, after all. But she was polite enough to let the women know how very tempted she was by the local attraction.

"We got a bit famous even," the woman went on. "Used to be we had a steady stream of visitors comin' through town, staying up at Harrison's Lodge there." She nodded at the town again, this time indicating one of the few multi-story buildings showing over the trees. "But we ain't had many visitors of late, given the problems on the far side of the world. Now, don't you worry. We're plenty safe from that kind of in-fighting and mischief over here. But people from the civilized worlds ain't comin' to Oeneus anymore and that's hurtin' us as much as it is them in the big city. We sure could use all the business we can get."

Kaylee looked at the sign across the way mournfully. "It would be a good time goin' someplace cool and dark and exotic, especially as I ain't ever seen a big cave like that, and double especially since y'all need the business.

"If you had a full day you could go further up the valley to the hot springs, have yourself a soak in the best steamin' spring water this side of the system."

Wash was genuinely tempted by that idea. "I will do my best to find a way to get back here," he promised earnestly. He held up a hand, palm out. "Pilot's honor."

"But today ain't the day," Kaylee finished for him. "Sorry, but we just ain't in a situation where we can linger. We got lives depending on us moving quickly. Can't be letting anyone down."

The woman clucked in disappointment. "Ah, well. Guess I'll have to be glad enough to do this much business with the bunch of you." She checked the connection with the ship, then returned to the back wall of the platform to monitor the flow of fuel.

.*. .*. .*.

The landing hadn't disturbed River's sleep, or so Book had reported, but Zoë thought the girl didn't seem restful. The teenager's frail body wound through the sheets on her narrow bed, as if something deeply buried in her mind wouldn't leave her at peace. Zoë looked on but stayed back in the shadows until Simon quit his place by his sister's bedside. The doctor quietly slid the door shut, then turned and started to find that he was being watched.

"She all right?" Zoë asked in a low voice.

Simon recovered his wits, and his sharp tongue, quickly. "Yes. Unfortunately, Will's was far from the first dead body she's seen while living on this ship."

Zoë left the criticism alone. "You need anything for the infirmary? We got a bit of time while we fuel up. I can send Jayne in to town to get supplies if you need `em."

"Thank you. That's thoughtful…" Simon started, but he was interrupted.

"Send _Jayne_?" the mercenary himself asked. "Jayne's a bit busy, if you two ain't noticed."

_Busy_ was a relative term. Jayne had pulled a chair into the dorm hallway and was sitting in it as if he meant to never leave, but he was doing nothing but staring into one of the cabins. Zoë glanced through the open door; inside, Ginger was bound to a rickety chair. Jayne seemed to think the ropes weren't enough, that the woman would only be properly held in place by the darts shooting from his eyes.

"The doc and the preacher can watch over her," Zoë said. "I need you out looking at the skies, in case any of the multitudes on our tail find us."

"Multitudes don't worry me none," Jayne said. The glare he continued to aim into the cabin completed the second half of his statement.

Zoë stepped in front of the mercenary to give him a taste of her own evil eye. "Check your hardware," she ordered, "then get your ass out on the ramp where you can be some use to me."

Jayne's lip lifted in an unwilling sneer, but after a tense, rebellious second he gave in with a barely perceptible nod, then rose and dragged his unwilling feet toward the cargo bay.

Zoë turned and caught sight of Book; he was hovering in the lounge. She tilted her head toward Jayne and the preacher nodded back, showing that he'd overheard and understood her need. He'd do what was necessary to get Jayne moving.

Outside the ship, in the bright sun and warm air of a mid-summer noon, Zoë found Kaylee being chatty with the lady running the fuel station. Wash, however, was standing at the edge of the platform, scanning the skies with a worried frown. Zoë got out from under the ship to join him and share in his jittery nerves. At least there were no clouds to gum up the view. Any approaching ship would be seen well in advance—unless it came in low from behind the mountains, that was.

The Alliance would indeed make such a stealthy approach if it knew that _Serenity_ was here. The thought sent an itching through the back of Zoë's neck, and a heavy foreboding settled in her gut: a fleet of the Alliance's finest could be gathering even now behind the most prominent gray and white peak to the west. The more she thought about it, the more she believed it possible. She could almost feel the distant rumble of their idling engines.

"How long?" she shouted toward Kaylee.

"Just barely got started," was the reply.

"Can't speed it up?"

"You folks sure are in a hurry, huh?" the woman with Kaylee asked cheerfully. "Don't you worry. The fuel's running and I'll have you outta here in no time."

Zoë tried to force herself to relax. She dropped her hand from the carbine on her hip and told herself that the humming noise feeding her fears was nothing more than the purr of the fuel line.

Kaylee smiled and spoke quickly, as if to head off any impolitic cutting remark from Zoë. "This here is Ells," the girl said with a casual wave at the fuel lady. "She's been tellin' me about her home town. I guess they're having hard times, what with all the mess goin' on back in the 'civilized' side of this world."

"And it ain't just that," Ells said.

A small frown made a line down Kaylee's forehead. "How do you mean?" she asked.

"Well, let me tell you. Folks have been shy to visit our side of the globe for some time, longer than the mess that's been happening where the Alliance set down in the city. Ain't nothing that gets talked about, except in private, when no prying ears can hear." Ells lowered her voice, though one set of prying ears had already caught on. Wash left his sentry post at the edge of the platform and came nearer so he could hear her warning.

"I'll tell you this much on account of how you're set on leaving soon anyhow," Ells said, her voice now barely above a campfire whisper. "You seem like good people. Hate to see you find a bad end. And, no offense, but you also seem the type to need aid in avoiding trouble."

"You speak nothin' but the truth," Kaylee admitted.

Ells frowned at the interruption; she wanted her audience rapt. She stood solemn and still until she had their ears focused, then lifted her gaze, staring far off as if she might make out the place where blue ended and emptiness took over. "I don't go outside the sky myself, but I hear tell once in a while—not at all often, but once in a while—of a ship out there goin' missing."

"No disrespect, Ells," Zoë muttered, "but that kind'a thing ain't exactly rare on the Rim."

Ells went on with hardly a pause to stare her disapproval at the interruption. "There's some kind of highwaymen up there. The lawless type, but not in a good way. And these road thieves don't like to be seen. They come out'a the Black, then disappear again before anyone can figure who they are. They go after the weak ship that's out on its own, the one strayin' too far from our world, or them that don't follow the main route from the Core. The ships separated from the herd, if you will. Which is why I'm telling you—I take it you ain't the type to stay with the herd."

Zoë nodded, suddenly very interested in what this woman had to say. "You got that right, Ells, and we'll keep our eyes open. You know about the kinds of weapons these folk use? You know their methods?"

Ells dropped her eyes, then shook her head. Her reply was soft-spoken and grim. "What they leave behind ain't fit to be talked of under such a sun as this." She suddenly brightened. "But what the dìyù am I worrying you about? There aren't nothing to fret over now, not down here planetside. You just stick to the main travel corridors on your way out, and you'll be fine."

The woman turned away and Zoë stared into the empty sky. A shiver ran up her spine. "Zhòu mà, where's Jayne?" she asked herself.

.*. .*. .*.

A man's choice of weaponry wasn't ever an issue to be taken lightly, and being fooled and betrayed by an agent of the Alliance could leave one feeling especially picky. Jayne huffed and threw the rifle in his hand back into an open locker, then stepped to his left and opened the next door over. A short perusal ended with another snort of disgust.

"Ain't no guns here worth seein' the light of day," he muttered.

"It's not your prom date, Jayne," Simon said dryly from the hatch by the infirmary.

Book was also watching, frowning down from a perch on the aft stairs. "You'd better take what you can find and get out there," he advised. "Zoë's not to be kept waiting."

"Waste of gorramn time," Jayne replied. "The danger we should be frettin' over is the one on this ship, not anything out there."

"The woman is bound and unarmed," Book said.

"And not really that scary to start with," Simon added.

"I ain't scared!"

Simon shrugged his doubt.

"I ain't! I'm mad is what I am."

"And why is that?" Book asked. He gave Jayne a keen look.

Jayne cleared his throat uncomfortably. "`Cause she's a Fed and she's a liar and she's out to do us harm. You mark my words—she'll find a way, if we leave her breathin' much longer. You better keep a close eye on her. If I had just half the chance I'd gut her myself!" He turned back to the locker and began sorting through the larger guns, ignoring the silent burdens of Book's impatience and Simon's disapproval. He opened another locker, intent on trying every weapon for balance and inspecting each shell to be sure it could be trusted.

Just then a low cry came from the dorm rooms. Book rose to his feet and Simon turned quickly, but Jayne shoved the doctor aside and got down the hall first. He looked into Ginger's room; the woman hadn't budged, and looked as impassive as ever.

The cry had come from River.

"Nothing but more bad dreams from the moon brain," Jayne muttered. He stood aside so Simon could hurry in to comfort the girl.

.*. .*. .*.

Zoë tapped her foot impatiently. Despite Book's promised help, the mercenary hadn't found his way off the ship yet. She wanted the man out here with her. The low rumble she'd imagined was back, though distant and tinny this time. She wasn't so sure that this sound was a trick of the flowing fuel and her overactive fears.

She turned as she scanned the sky, then stopped facing the low plains to the east. What she saw made her sigh in relief.

"It's all right," she mumbled to herself. Her husband was gotten himself busy under the ship. "It ain't Alliance. Feds would'a come over the mountains, all sudden. These folk are probably just…"

She looked out again; the dark spot skimmed low and slow over the plains, as if it wasn't sure where it was heading. It veered north, then a bit west, briefly receding before it turned to meander toward the mountains again.

Suddenly it powered up, its nose aimed directly at the town nestled in the foothills.

.*. .*. .*.

River sat up, her blankets clenched to her chest. Her hair was damp with sweat, her breath came fast, and her eyes echoed whatever nightmare had disturbed her sleep. Simon sat beside her and reached a hand toward her shoulder; when he touched her, her wild eyes finally snapped into the here and now and settled on his face.

"Hungry!" she told Simon.

"But River, you ate when you… "

"Not me." Her eyes turned toward the cargo bay. "Them."

.*. .*. .*.

When the approaching ship surged ahead, dark gray-black clouds billowed from its firing engines. The sight made Zoë's breath catch.

"Wash!" she called out. "Wash! We gotta run!"

Wash had busied himself checking various fluid levels in the ship, but Zoë's tone made him jog out of _Serenity_'s shadow, passing Kaylee and the local woman on his way. "Who is it?" he asked as he lifted one hand to block the sun from his face. "Who found us? There's just so many tempting possibilities that I can't… possibly…" His voice trailed off as his eyes found what Zoë was looking at. He immediately paled.

The mechanic also emerged from the shadows and took to scanning the eastern sky.

"How much we got?" Zoe demanded of her.

"Near a quarter full," Kaylee replied softly. "Is that… ? Is that what I…?"

"It is," Zoë replied, and she disappeared into the cargo bay.

.*. .*. .*.

Jayne left Simon, his sister, and her nightmare behind him. Abandoning the question of additional arms, he decided to stick with the handgun on his hip and a basic long-sight sniper rifle, and he finally started out to take his post as Zoë's watchdog.

He made it barely ten steps across the bay when screams rose in the distance, the sounds blending with the growing rumble of an engine. Jayne looked toward the open cargo bay doors and could just make out the belly of a ship lowering toward the town. Its engines ran rough enough to set off a low reverberation in _Serenity_'s hull.

Heavy footsteps joined the din; Zoë's boots on the ramp. "Pack it up!" she yelled. "We're gone!"

"Gone?" Jayne asked. "But I'm just ready—"

"Reavers," Zoë said flatly.

Jayne eyes snapped back to the shadow that now hovered a mere hundred meters away, dropping black smoke like an oily dew on the treetops.

"You mean… ?" Book asked from behind Jayne.

Zoë barely paused. "I mean that if we ain't off the ground in—"

"No!" a shout rang out from the cargo bay behind Zoë. "No we can't go!" Kaylee protested. "The captain and Inara, they're out there, in the town. We can't leave them!"

Zoë didn't stop; she trotted toward the fore stairs. "And they'll get back quick as they can. Meantime, we got to prep."

"But we can't—" Kaylee went on.

"We really can't," Wash finished for the mechanic. He was barely up the ramp. "We can't move, Zoë. They've got a grapple, and they're using it. Look!"

Jayne forced himself a few steps closer to the open doors so he could catch a glimpse of what Wash meant, and he stared out in open-mouth paralysis. A small craft had lifted off from the town, only to be harpooned by a cable. The snared ship pulled sideways, then its engines overheated and blew. It fell toward the ground.

"Shàng shēng dì yù," Zoë whispered. Jayne started at the words spoken beside him; Zoë had come back down the stairs to see the mayhem in the sky for herself.

"If we take off, we're dead," Wash said.

But it wasn't over so quickly. The captured ship was immediately reeled back up to meet a worse end than a crash of flames. Jayne had heard what the captives of Reavers faced; just a bare second of imagining it made him break out of his freeze to yell at Zoë, "We're worse `n dead! No way in hell I'm going near them things!"

"You wanna stay on the ship, Jayne?" Zoë interrupted abruptly, "you go right ahead." She was seeing and hearing the same things he was, but somehow she stayed frosty. She strode past Jayne and went to the open weapons lockers. "Give `em a nice welcome. Make tea." She raised her voice yo call toward the dorms, "Doc! Get your sister out here!"

Jayne followed after Zoë, sputtering. "Make tea? Are you kidding me? You ain't thinking… I know you ain't at all thinking about goin' out there and fightin' them things..."

"What's happening?" Simon asked. He appeared through the aft hatch with his blanket wrapped sister under his arm.

Zoë's visit to the lockers took only ten seconds, but she turned away with a weapon tucked into every part of her outfit that could hold one. She took care of her husband next, flinging guns and explosives his way as she barked orders.

"We're leaving the ship, doc. Don't ask. Jayne, if you feel like maybe you'd prefer not to play host to a bunch of rape-hungry murdering monsters, I got another idea. That fueling lady said something about caverns.

"Caverns?" Jayne asked, his voice rising near hysteria. "Caverns? How the hell are we gonna get to some gorramn caverns?"

"The usual way. One foot in front of the other. You take the Shepherd, the Tams, and Kaylee. Hole up. Go in deep. Don't you dare come out till everything's quiet. You wait days if you have to. Wash is with me."

"Where are you going?" Simon asked. He'd turned even whiter than usual, and his sister cowered into his side, holding the blanket tightly about herself as if it could protect her.

Zoë yelled over her shoulder. "We'll get Mal and Inara and meet you there. Now, go!"

Jayne stood paralyzed for another short second, then turned and ran to the weapons locker. The Shepherd had beat him to it; the preacher fumbled a bit but managed to find enough handguns for all, even tossing a pair to the Tams. River lifted her head, dropped the blanket, and stepped in front of her brother to catch the first pistol. She stared down at it in horror, then let go of it as it was a giant spider.

Jayne ignored her; either she'd get with it or she wouldn't. The rule of "survival of the fittest" was in full play now. He reached over the preacher's shoulder for as many grenades as he could carry, then a thought came to him.

He ran past the infirmary to the dorms, to the room holding the fed who'd made a patsy of him. One look at Ginger's wide eyes and open mouth made it clear: she'd heard the news. She was struggling against the ropes that bound her, and though she didn't speak, her plea was all over her face.

Jayne scowled, then made his choice. He turned away and left her.

.*. .*. .*.

Translations  
dìyù : hell  
zhòu mà: damn  
Shàng shēng dì yù: ascend to hell


	18. Chapter 18

**Back Stories III: Chapter 18  
**By mal4prez

_

* * *

The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money._

* * *

Lonely, hollow _plips_ echoed in the shadows of long, empty tunnels, leaving behind circular ripples spreading silently through cold, black pools. Other sounds followed the drips: whispers of movement as legs shifted across sand-covered hard stone, as arms in cotton sleeves slipped around denim covered shoulders, as fingers combed through knotted, windblown hair. Now and then, breath hitched in a throat already tight and hoarse from screaming, but no one spoke.

After an immeasurable time of this tense near-silence, someone moved too far and pushed a rock off a low shelf. It fell with a sharp crack, startling several of those who sheltered in the large cavern. River Tam only tightened her grip on her ears and whimpered softly.

Kaylee reached toward the girl, but stopped short of contact. She couldn't be sure of how River would react to being touched, and she didn't want the stillness broken again. Not that the blood-thirsty creatures they hid from were likely to hear them now, the logical part of Kaylee's brain told her, but logic didn't rule in the dark, not after what they'd all seen in the hours past.

River, wrapped up in her own thoughts, had no such awareness of the quiet. "Simon?" she asked suddenly. Her voice was loud enough to echo through the chamber, making heads turn, pairs of wide eyes glinting dark orange-red in the dim light of a struggling fire.

"He ain't far," Kaylee reassured the girl in a whisper, and she nodded toward a group huddled around small, dull flames that clung to life in the center of the large cavern. "See? He's right nearby. There's people need his help real bad. We got to just sit tight till he's done, okay?"

River eyes narrowed to thin slits, and she looked like she was about to break down, but then she pressed her lips together and nodded bravely. She huddled around herself again and returned to silent waiting.

.*. .*. .*.

The Reavers had left marks on these people, gaps where once their bodies had been whole. Simon couldn't do much for such injuries. He had his med kit, but little else of use.

He had fabric for bandages, thanks to the surviving townspeople volunteering scraps of their clothing. He also had fire, though it was small; the few bits of wood salvaged from the cavern's collapsed entrance needed to last as long as possible. Water was plentiful, collected from the silent, clear pools and stored in emptied medicine containers from his kit, but he had no vessel for boiling the water, no way of sanitizing the cloth bandages. He had no choice but to bind these horrible wounds with nothing more than small dabs of ointment rationed from his med kit.

Simon could only be grateful that he'd brought the red bag with him. Again and again as the slow, dark hours passed, he thanked whatever Gods might be out there that he'd risked a slight delay when leaving _Serenity_, had made Jayne wait while he ran to the infirmary and grabbed the kit, then had managed to hold onto it during the madness and chaos of their journey to these caves.

.*. .*. .*.

_Simon runs, grasping the handle of a red bag in one hand while his other arm supports his sister by her elbow. River stumbles on tree roots and he almost drops the med kit, but Kaylee helps from River's other side and he's able to continue with the bag in his hand. _

_As they hurry up the shallow ravine west of the town, Simon glances toward the large ship hovering over his left shoulder. Several small transports struggle against harpoons piercing their hulls, and they pull the hulking invader to and fro. Black smoke falls from the monster's laboring engines, but where the valley's soft breezes break through the reek Simon can make out figures descending toward the ground, sliding down lines that dance and swing over the buildings. _

_Jayne steps into Simon's view and shouts something unnecessarily insulting. Simon gets his feet moving again but his eyes still scan the thin alpine woods; he feels that he's missed something, a detail that's important and ought to be obvious. The group of four runs through loose red skree beside a small creek until Jayne swerves to cross the brook. Icy cold water splashes Simon's knees as he follows. _

_Suddenly, Simon realizes what is bothering him, and he pulls River and Kaylee to a stop in the center of the ford. _

"_Book," he gasps. "The Shepherd! Where's Book?"_

_Jayne stops, and his mouth falls open. His eyes are wild and his big feet splash in the water as he whirls in a circle, searching the trees. "He was behind me. Gorramn it, I swear he was behind me!" He stops, looking back through a stand of thin pines toward the distant fueling platform where _Serenity_ sits alone and abandoned. "He was behind me," Jayne says again, sounding as forlorn as a lost boy. _

"_We'll go back," Kaylee says. "We ain't gone so very far. We'll just go back to find him, or at least a trail showing where he's—"_

"_No!" Jayne turns to her and suddenly his voice is hard. His biggest gun is in his hands, grenades are strapped across his chest, and his face is grim. "Can't. No way of knowing where he got to. No way of knowing we won't end in the same place." His eyes still dart through the trees, but the tone of his order holds no doubt. "We move on."_

_The big man reaches out and shoves River forward. Simon and Kaylee have no choice but to support the girl and continue across the creek._

.*. .*. .*.

Simon hoped to make up for the lack of supplies by providing an overdose of attention to these wounded people; he took a break to check on his sister and Kaylee, but he didn't stay for long. Once he saw that River slept under Kaylee's watchful eye, he returned to his charges.

He tried to be gentle as he tightened a rough tourniquet on an upper arm, but the man before him groaned in pain.

"I'm sorry," Simon said softly. The poor man faced, at best, a life with a left arm that ended just above the elbow. More likely, infection and blood loss would take him. There wasn't much Simon could do about it, besides tighten the bindings and inject another precious dose of antibiotic.

"Foreigner," the man gasped.

"I'm sorry," Simon repeated. "I'm doing all I can."

"Foreigner in town," the man mumbled, his eyes unfocused, and Simon realized it was delirium speaking, not accusation. "Tall man, pretty woman. Dark-haired."

Simon had been ready to move on to his other patients, but he stopped to mop the man's brow again. "Who do you mean?" he asked. "You've seen foreigners?"

"I told her," the man said. "I told her—I seen `em doin' business in the bank. Pretty woman. But all eyes for the man, is why I noticed."

"Who did you tell?"

"The strong woman with all the guns, and the blond guy with her. Goin' into town. She told me to get to the caves. She said fightin' wouldn't do no good."

"The women with the guns went into town?"

"Friends. Said she had friends. Tall man and pretty woman. Dark-haired, both of `em."

"Did she find them?"

"Don't know." The man's bright eyes fixed on Simon. "You a doctor?"

"I am."

"Why's my arm feel so funny?"

Simon didn't know how to answer.

.*. .*. .*.

Shepherd Book heard the question and saw Simon's confusion. He touched the doctor's shoulder, then met his raised eyes with a sympathetic nod. The boy's face spoke of his frustration; this wasn't the kind of doctoring the young man had learned about in school.

"There's nothing lost that can't be lived without," the Shepherd told the maimed patient. "The `verse will provide."

Simon dropped his gaze and nodded in gratitude. Book clapped him on the shoulder one more time, a gesture of sympathy. With the scant supplies Simon had on hand, he could do little for these people. Book was less helpless; he couldn't do much for the doctor now that the first rush of triage was finished, but he had other duties to keep him busy. The spiritual and emotional well-being of the survivors also needed attention; so, while Simon continued to fret over his patients, Book moved through the cavern to check on those not seriously injured.

First up was Jayne Cobb.

The mercenary sat near a pile of boulders that had once been the wide open entrance to the caves. Some hours ago, the large rifle in his hands had been a comforting sight, but the weapon was no longer needed. No attack would come upon them now. Still, Jayne clutched the thing tightly while he sat erect, his chin high and chest thrust out, and he eyed the walls of stone as if enemies might emerge from the solid rock at any second.

"Jayne," Book said. He didn't feel safe stepping up to the tightly strung man without some verbal notice.

The mercenary nodded tensely.

"Jayne, we're all right. It's been hours. If they could find another way in, they'd be here by now."

The mercenary's tense shoulders didn't relax. "Maybe they're waitin'. Maybe they want us to think we're safe, just so they can make it worse when they finally get around to eatin' our soft parts."

"It's doubtful. It's been too long. In any case, you should rest."

Jayne suddenly glared at the Shepherd, the extremity of his animosity clear. "Don't see as your opinion mean a whole lot to me right now, old man," he said bitterly. "Not after what you did."

Book nodded mutely. He knew exactly what Jayne meant and wasn't about to venture an argument in his own defense, though he believed a good one could be made.

.*. .*. .*.

_Urgency flutters in Book's chest. Jayne, Kaylee, and the Tams are getting a long lead. They'd run out of the cargo bay without seeming to realize that he wasn't with them, and by now they might be too far ahead for him to catch up. _

_But he doesn't doubt what he's stayed behind to do. No one should be left to the Reavers. _

_And not just for reasons of mercy, Book thinks to himself as he waits in the cargo bay. Jayne'd been a fool to leave this woman behind. Ginger moves with a cool deliberateness that rivals Zoë's best, calmly but quickly arming herself at the weapons locker. She gives Book a short nod when she's ready, then starts off at a determined trot. _

_He leaves the cargo bay doors open, since the Reavers will force their way through locked doors anyhow, damaging the ship on the way. Let them look, he figures, and when they find the Firefly empty of what they crave—human flesh—they'll go on their way. _

_The fuel line is also left running, because as soon as he steps off the ship he sees that the chaos has spread and he can't delay. The town is burning. Smoke rises in a half dozen thick columns to join the descending plume of pollution from the invading ship's engines. _

_Book searches the trees on the valley as he follows Ginger down the stairs off the platform. To his relief, he quickly spots Jayne, Kaylee, Simon, and River. They are indeed far ahead, more than a hundred meters to the west and across a creek, about to disappear in the trees on the far side of the valley. River's hands are clamped over her ears, her shoulders drawn up. Simon and Kaylee's aid keep her on her feet and moving, but she's slowing the group enough that Ginger and Book might to be able to catch them._

.*. .*. .*.

"We're stuck here," Jayne told Book bitterly. "Cause a' what you did, we ain't getting out a'this place. Case you ain't paying attention, that ain't happy news. It sure would be good to see what the hell is going on out there." He waved at the huddle of Simon's patients by the thin fire. "Sure would be good to have some proper medicines for these sick folk." His hand settled on his stomach. "Sure would be good to have a little chow."

Book opened his mouth to reply, but a strong, firm voice beat him to it. "Well," a woman said. "Perhaps someone ought to go out and get the moody little boy some supper."

Jayne glowered at a pale, grim face across the tunnel from him. "I can't believe you brought her, old man," he hissed at Book, then he raised his voice. "How do you suppose we'll get out, miss Ginny-Alliance-spy? How do you think this place'll be anything our graves, after what you made of it?" He kicked at one of the smaller boulders at the bottom of the pile blocking the cavern's entrance.

Ginger frowned back at him. "What I did was a damned site better than what you deserve. I saved your ungrateful pì gu."

Jayne scowled so deeply that he felt like he was chewing his own face from the inside. "Best you left this pì gu dead," he said. "Better a corpse than a live man in debt to the likes of you."

.*. .*. .*.

_Jayne leads the way up a gentle slope and emerges from the trees onto smooth pavement. A concrete ramp leads down into an opening big enough for two good-sized wagons to pass each other; it's high and wide enough for the visitor trams that are parked off to the side of the driveway. _

_He stops to wait for the rest of his flock. They're slow, given River's state, and Jayne swears impatiently. He hears violence in the trees across the far side of the pavement, shouts and things being thrown, but only a few bullets fired. Whoever it is, they're nearly out of ammo, Jayne guesses. Worse, they're bringing their losing fight this way._

"_Get a move on!" Jayne yells to the trees behind him, just as the Tams and Kaylee push through the last pine branches. "Go that way, stay hid!" Jayne points to the parked trams. Kaylee understands immediately and pulls the huddled threesome into cover. _

_A full scale battle breaks out on the broad spread of pavement as a score of bedraggled folk led by a large bearded man fight their way toward the cavern. The bearded man is the only one still firing, though his dinosaur of a rifle needs frequent reloading. The others either drag wounded into the caves or pick up rocks to throw at half-seen shadows moving in the shrubs and trees._

_Leaving Kaylee and the Tams to take care of themselves, Jayne takes up the fight, using his grenades generously. The bearded man accepts the unexpected ally with nothing more than a glance and a nod._

.*. .*. .*.

Ginger understood that the mercenary was angry at her, and could even admit that, by playing him to get at his captain, she'd given him reason. But he'd already done his best to pay her back. Leaving her on the Firefly as Reaver fodder was harsh enough to pay her back in full, and then some, even if the Shepherd'd had the good graces to save her hide.

But it was time for Jayne to drop his grudge and focus on practical matters, and Ginger figured she ought to do the same. For the time being at least. She ignored the big man's bitterness, swallowed her own substantial resentment, and spoke slow and clear.

"Smoke from the fire is getting out," she told Jayne. "Therefore, we might do the same."

He looked her up and down. "Don't see as that follows, lady, given that you're a _little_ more substantial than a whiff of smoke."

"More than a little," she replied boldly, refusing to acknowledge the insult. "And I'll be of more use once I get out."

"Of use doing what?"

"Seeing what's out there, at the very least." She slung her rifle over her shoulder and pushed up to her feet. "Listen up!" she yelled into the brooding silence of the cavern, making people start at the sound of her raised voice. "You all live here and know this place. Can anybody tell me of a way I can get out to the town? I'll fetch us help if I can."

"She'll call for the troops is more like it," she hears Jayne mumble behind her. "Xié è Alliance jiàn dié."

.*. .*. .*.

_The outcome of the battle isn't in doubt, certainly not by the Reavers. They don't fire much, and certainly they don't aim to kill. Wounded townspeople lay on the broad stretch of pavement and cry out for mercy and aid, but the best response most get is a quick end from a stray bullet. Some aren't so lucky. More than one who fell too close to the far edge of the clearing are caught by an ankle or wrist and pulled, screaming, into the brush. _

_After shoving the religious man toward the cave, Ginger drops to her knee to fire at the places where the unfortunate wounded disappear. She hears a few squeals of rage and pain, but the Reavers stay back in the shadows. She sees why; Jayne and a hefty bearded man are already down on their bellies on the pavement. Anything that moves in the bushes gets fired on, and Jayne has a small pile of grenades by his right elbow. He's won time for a last few escapees from the town to stumble down the ramp, pulling what injured folk they can into the shadows. _

_Ginger eyes the place. It's not much in the way of shelter. The entrance is so wide that it'll be near impossible to defend, and for a split second the fate waiting in the depths below flashes through her mind. She sees herself running into ever deeper, darker, and narrower tunnels until she just has room to wedge her body in tight against hard stone. Then she can do nothing but turn and fire and fire until she has to use her last precious bullet on herself… _

_No, she won't allow that. She comes out of cover and sprints straight down the ramp. Jayne catches the movement and swings around to aim at her, but holds his fire when he recognizes her._

"_How the hell did you get here?" he yells. "And where the hell are you going? Fight's over here!"_

_She continues in to the cavern, ignoring his questions as well as all the accusations and insults that follow. Sure, he might think her cowardly and useless, but that's not the case. She simply has things to do._

_It takes her a full minute to find a locked door set into the side of the entrance, five seconds to shoot the hinges off it, and another thirty seconds of searching the supply room to find everything she needs. A half minute after that she's back out at the base of the ramp. The surfaces of the cavern's opening are smooth, but wells cut to hold the lighting—now dark, whether from the battle or because the caves were shut down for the day—serve her purpose perfectly. She climbs up on the shoulders of a tall local who answers her call for help, breaks out the bulbs to make space, and sets the TNT sticks._

_The Reavers' slow, patient approach is working. By the time Ginger is done, the explosives timed to go off, Jayne has used all his grenades and, judging by how sparsely he fires, most of his ammo. He and the bearded man know that their fight is almost spent; they inch backwards down the ramp on their elbows and knees. _

_A rumble shakes the caves and a shadow falls across the pavement, quickly followed by a descending puff of oily black smoke. Emboldened by the weakening defense and the support of their ship overhead, the Reavers finally step out of the trees. _

"_Lao tien ye they got us!" Jayne yells. His voice is angry and desperate as he looks over his shoulder to add, "You get into the fight you __kǎn-fù nuò fū!_"

"_Get inside!" Ginger yells as she runs part way up the ramp. Reinforcements are rappelling down from the ship, but they don't open fire. They're sure of their prey now. They want them alive._

_The bearded man has been injured but manages to do as she says, holding his left arm to his side as he high tails it into the blackness, but Jayne isn't moving fast enough. He seems intent on getting what use he can out of his last clip. "Gorramit, make yourself useful!" he yells at Ginger._

"_You come in the caves now, or you won't be coming!" Ginger shouts. "Timer's set. There ain't no delayin' it!"_

_She turns and runs as fast as her legs can carry her. She makes it around the first bend in the tunnel and crouches into a ball just before the explosives blow. She doesn't know if Jayne followed her, not until after the dust settles._

.*. .*. .*.

"She's a liar and a spy!" Jayne announced in a full voice, and he leveled a finger at Ginger. "This woman's out to get us arrested, and no more than that. We won't see nothing of her again till we wake up to purplebelly guns up all our noses." He looked to Kaylee, Simon and Book. "Don't you see? She stuck us in here on purpose, so she could call in the troops!"

Kaylee stood up and crossed her arms. "Jayne, you've gone nuts."

"No I ain't. You just ask her what she's really after!"

"Listen up," the large bearded man called out. He had bandages over his left arm and temple, but his voice was firm. "I don't give a rat's ass if this woman is the second coming of Shen Yu himself. If she got us out of the reach of those… those _things_, and if she can call in the cavalry—any cavalry—to get us out of this cave, she damned right ought to do it."

Jayne reared back. "Well, there's some of us ain't so happy to see the troops ride in," he said awkwardly, though Kaylee and Simon were staring darts at him. Perhaps, he realized, he shouldn't have announced such a thing to the general public.

Fortunately, the talk took a turn. "I know a way," a woman's tired voice called out. "I know how a body can get out."

"Ells?" That was Kaylee. The mechanic stepped away from the fire and searched the shadows. "Ells? You made it here?"

The reply was weary. "That I did."

Kaylee hurried through the refugees to find the speaker, a woman stretched out on a slab of rock further down the way. Ginger followed.

"I got in before the big fight started," Ells went on. Ginger could barely make out the woman's dark brown face against the deeper shadows of the cavern. "I might'a done more good out there," the woman said, "but I got this tear here in my arm."

Kaylee crouched down next to her. "You should'a had Simon look at that!"

"It ain't bad—"

Ginger interrupted the pleasantries. "The way out," she demanded. "You know it?"

"I know a tunnel that'll do for a small person."

Ginger's head drooped—she was not in the habit of thinking herself small—but Ells went on. "You might make it, lady, if you can be flexible. You'd best not mind squeezing through tight spots with a mountain of hard rock pressing down on you in the dark. It ain't a passage for weak nerves."

"You done it?"

Ells nodded.

Ginger looked the strongly built woman up and down. "I ain't any bigger than you." _Though maybe less fit._ "I can make it. You well enough to show me the way?"

The woman nodded and began climbing to her feet. The doctor was quickly at her side, but she waved him off. "Nothing but a stray bullet come too close, doctor. I bound it up myself. A better fix will wait till I come back with the proper fixin's."

"I should go too, for that," Simon said.

Ells eyed his wide shoulders. "Doubt you'd make it."

"I got it," Kaylee said. "I'll go. I know what kind'a things you need, Simon."

Ginger turned back and ran smack into Jayne. She drew herself up and eyed the mercenary's bulky shape. "Sorry," she said sweetly. "You'll just have to stay put. I'll try to remember to grab you a snack. Really I will."

Jayne's reply was spiteful. "Or maybe you'll be the snack. Maybe the Reavers are still out there, just waiting for a mouthful like you."

"Well, if I don't come back, you can smile pretty while you imagine them Reavers pickin' their teeth with my bones." She looked back over her shoulder. "Ells?"

The three woman took a few precious bits of wood from the fireside, lit them for torches, and set out toward the deeper, darker portions of the cave.

.*. .*. .*.

Translations  
Xié è: evil  
jiàn dié: spy  
kǎn-fù nuò fū: yellow-bellied coward


	19. Chapter 19

**Back Stories III: Chapter 19  
**By mal4prez

_

* * *

The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money.

* * *

_

_The first taste was golden, fresh and pungent at the same time. I remember how the nectar burst on my tongue, dark and rich. Like the fire filling my veins, it reminded me that I was alive. I had not given up._

_My feast laid still and let me take what I wanted. I devoured the sweet offering, let it coat my hands and lips and bare skin. I was alive. I was hungry and I ate. I was thirsty and I drank. My body burned and was sated. I was not like them, these creatures that I had known. They laid still before me, and the memory of what they had once been to me faded as I took what I wanted from them. _

_They quenched and satisfied me and I saw that they were not real, not as I was, because they did not rise up. They did not feel the things I did to them. They did not know their own hurts, not like I did mine. I found cuts and bruises on my body. The throbbing of my burned and broken skin enraged me, but was also precious. The pain taught a dear lesson: I was not dead. I was alive and I was hungry. I must be fed._

_Back then, at the beginning, my prey let me do as I pleased, but now it is not so easy. Now the hunger burns for days, months, time I don't know how to measure. Now I must wait and hold my place with those who thirst as I do. Now when I see what I crave I cannot immediately have it, because it runs from me. Sometimes it tries to fight. I cling to the agony of the hurts it does me because the pain carries the message I hunger to hear: I am not dead. I did not lie down. _

_Now, when they fight, I follow and strike when I can, wait when I can't. I know that they will end like the others, their resistance worn down to nothing. They will be made to lie down. They will lie still and wait for me, heady nectar pouring forth to be tasted before the spark goes out and the sweet flavor rots. _

_I am alive as they are not. I relish the pain that tells me so, and wait for the nourishment I crave. I feel my own strength, the power they cannot stop, and wait for my satisfaction. I am thirsty. I need. I must be quenched or I will no longer be alive. _

.*. .*. .*.

Tangled voices worked their way into River's mind; her brother's words were the first she could follow.

"It's only been a few hours." Simon paused before admitting with some exasperation, " All right, so it's been several. But Ells said it wasn't an easy passage out. It must take time."

The reply was sullen. "She waved the Feds. She's just sittin' out there waitin' for her gorramn Fed pals to show."

"We don't have much call to be selective as to how we get saved, Jayne," came the Shepherd's grim reply. "The rules have changed."

"Ain't changed so much. You think the Alliance is gonna let the doc and his sis—and the rest of us innocent souls tied up in their problems—go free on account of Reavers attackin' some little bitty town? You're dreamin'."

_We're all dreaming_, River thought. _We must be. We can't know about that sweet taste, the fire…_

She didn't move. Despite the heated fever of her mind, her innards seemed to be encased in ice. She couldn't break free, but she could hear, and she could feel. Her brother's conflict flooded her senses even before he spoke. He had his own cravings, and they pulled him in opposing directions. He didn't know what to hope for.

"These people need help," Simon said in a thick voice. "No matter what form it comes in. I can't put myself, or even River, before them."

Jayne's scorn flooded River in burning red waves. "You willing to give up your little sister just so these idgets can get a _real_ doctor?"

Despite the resentment that rose in reply to Jayne's insult, Simon didn't speak.

River managed to pry her eyes open. Her brother, Jayne, and Book were hovering next to her, barely visible. With great effort, she softened her inner glacier enough to free her neck, to turn her head away from them and take in the rest of the blackness around her. A fire a few paces away had burned down to embers, and she could barely make out dark forms huddled beside the crimson glow a dozen meters to her left. She didn't intend to speak, but found herself whispering:

"They're lying down. They're not alive as I am."

Simon was immediately by her side. "River, it's okay. Don't worry. I'll find a way—"

Again the strange voice spoke with her mouth, louder this time. "Bad things happen to the ones who lie down."

She found herself lifted to sitting, her brother's gentle arms around her, his delicate hands patting her back. Her forehead was pressed to his cheek but his words fell on her ears as if from a long distance. "It's okay. It'll all be okay. I promise. I'll find a way. Nothing bad will happen…"

His comforting hug finally broke the freeze; the dream that had captured her senses fell to splinters. River found herself weeping and clinging to her brother. "The things I crave," she said between gasps. "The things I can do…. Simon, they're not right!"

"What do you need? Just tell me. I'll take care of you."

She only cried harder. She cried out the cold heartlessness that had tried to take over her body and mind. "It's not right," she managed to tell him between sobs. "It's not me! I don't want… any of that."

Simon shushed her like a child. She wanted to push him away, to tell him that he was wrong. She was no child. There was no innocence in the nightmares that haunted her sleep. But her brother, so heroic, so selfless, would never understand.

She swallowed her words of explanation, willed that horrible dream to bury itself in the hard stone beneath her, in the deepest of the caves around her. Shame-filled memories of her own actions over the past weeks were crammed into the same endless black hole, until nothing but the concern she felt from Simon remained.

Eventually, her mind found an uneasy quiet, and she was able to listen again.

"Jayne does have a point," Book was saying. "We need to think about what will happen when our rescuers get here. We need to find a way to keep her safe."

_A way to keep her safe_, River repeated in her mind. Everyone was always so worried about that. Everyone wanted to keep her coddled away in neat tidy corners. Nobody asked if _they_ were safe from _her_.

"I know how," she said. She was grateful to find that she had control over her own voice. "I'm all right. I'm awake." She pulled away from Simon and rubbed her eyes, then tucked the wild strands of her hair back away from her wet face. "I know how to stay safe. Have to be invisible."

"River—"

"It's all right, Simon. No one will tell about me if they don't remember me. No one will be… no one will worry if they don't know where I am. I'll just hide." She looked into the depths of the cavern, to the blackness of a narrower way.

.*. .*. .*.

Deeper in the caves it was cold, and River had nothing to warm herself. She curled up, shivering, and regretted that she'd dropped the blanket she'd briefly carried from her bed on _Serenity_.

Simon had found this spot, a rough hollow between a waist-high ridge rising from the floor and a pile of limestone that had fallen from above. She was still in the main corridor and not far from the others, but around a bend and sunken down so that little of the light from Simon's fire reached her. Most importantly, she couldn't be seen by the people of the town, nor by anyone who might suddenly dig their way in through the collapsed cavern entrance.

Her brother had stayed with her for some time, telling her that hiding like this wasn't necessary, but her mind was made up. Even the Shepherd's occasional visits couldn't persuade her to move nearer to the people of the town. This was what she wanted: darkness, and time alone. She felt safe here. The faint glimmer of light from the fire cut eerie shapes into the stone of the corridor; she imagines leering faces staring down at her, but they didn't scare her. Nothing her eyes could see was as frightening as the monsters in her mind.

She'd had too many discoveries in too short a time, too much that was new. She didn't know how to understand these things in herself, and no one could help her. Not the captain, not Kaylee, not even her brother. How could she ask for their empathy while explaining to them the nameless images and thoughts that lived inside her head? She must never tell _Serenity_'s crew that she'd felt the need to do hurt, that she had the ability to do powerful and horrible things, that she could imagine the flavor of something that should never, ever be tasted. They'd all fear and hate her forever if they knew.

And as for her dreams, the stirrings of love… those had been a lie. The desire to hold a hard body against her own, to be bound by its strength and bent by its grip, had only been a temptation to lead her further astray.

She tightened her arms around herself and swore: she'd never make such a mistake again. The dreams that haunted her these past weeks were not meant for her to have. It was better that she remain alone, forever, rather than hurt people the way she feared she was capable of doing.

The thought was like a knife in her chest. How would she bear it?

"I have no other choice," she told herself quietly. "I can't even imagine a way… I can't. I can't let myself pretend…"

"So you're wanted by them in the Core?"

She whirled and pressed her back against the stone. In the dim light she could barely make out a small oval shape rising from the depths of the passage.

"Who are you?" she demanded, whispering so that no one could hear.

"Nobody much."

From the voice she knew it was a man, a young man, almost a boy. She tried to study his face. Nothing could be made out but darker shadows on the oval where his eyes and mouth must be. As frightened as she should have been, she wasn't.

"You're hiding?" he asked.

"Of course. Just like you."

"I'm hiding from them monsters that attacked the town. You're hiding from the people who might come rescue us. You done something bad?"

She dropped her eyes. "More than one thing." She muttered the words almost silently, but he heard.

"Like what?"

She shook her head. "Nothing that I should to be arrested for. I'm not evil." _I don't think._

He moved closer; she could just make out the grey shadow of a slender body stepping over a boulder. He sat down across the tunnel from her. "So why're you hiding?"

"I guess… I guess I might do something really bad someday. Don't want to, but I can see that it might happen. I… I have strange thoughts." She raised her eyes to his half-seen shadow. "I imagine things."

"So? We all think what we think. If you don't want to do something that's wrong, then don't."

"You make it sound so simple." She sat quietly staring at her hands for a long minute, wondering what to talk about. Finally, she ventured, "Don't you ever feel like, sometimes, you don't have any say?"

"In what you do? But that makes no sense. If you aren't in control of yourself, who is?"

She shook her head. "Wish I knew."

He had no reply for her, and she didn't push him to say any more. She had enough to chew on for now, and she needed no further comforting. His presence was enough; it calmed her just to have company, to not be alone.

After some long time, she raised her eyes to study him, to make out more of his face. He was attractive, but not too perfect. A smooth cheek, a sharp nose, shadowed eyes. Unafraid, he was watching her right back.

In the past four years of her life she'd only once been able to spend time—time of her own, not training sessions at the Academy—with someone her age. That had been a boy who'd passed only a few short days on _Serenity_. She'd enjoyed her time with him, very much. Jase had had shocking green eyes that drew her in. This stranger's pupils were lighter, she decided. Almost blue. Almost a familiar blue.

She started when she realized that her little alcove was much brighter than it should have been. A warm yellow glow was approaching, but not from the main cavern; it was climbing up from the depths.

Before River could be frightened, she heard a familiar voice call out. Kaylee was back.

.*. .*. .*.

Each of the three spelunking women held a lantern, and they carried several small bags which were piled next to Simon; they'd brought in the medical supplies first and left other, less urgent goods deeper in the cavern where the narrow crevice they'd come through joined the wider corridor. Book and a few of the uninjured took a lamp and went about fetching the rest of the supplies while the women rested.

They needed it. Kaylee had dragged herself in, her head down, as if she was carrying a heavier weight than just the bags slung on her back. She sat down heavily by the remains of the fire and didn't speak. Ells also seemed weary; an injury on her shoulder was clearly paining her. Simon ordered her to be still and wait. He had to make hurried use of the supplies with his most seriously injured patients before he could see to her.

Ginger was covered in abrasions from the stony way, but she was the only one up to talking. "Wasn't easy," the Alliance agent said as she wiped the grit of the caverns off her sweaty face. "Took a lot of going back and forth to get it all down here, and dragging them bags through the tight places was a trick." She shook her head. "I can't imagine why some people work their way through mazes like that by choice. Ain't a bit fun."

"What did you find out there?" Simon asked as he cleaned a wound. His patient, mercifully to all present, was enjoying the effects of numbing medication.

"Well," Ginger replied thoughtfully, "it was dark."

"Astute," Jayne said with obvious scorn.

She cut her eyes at the mercenary. "My point is that, being dark, we couldn't see a damned thing. Nothing but the smoke and dead glow of the buildings still finishing their slow burn. So we stayed hid till dawn."

"And?" a wounded man with a beard asked. "What then?"

"The Reavers are gone, and they left a mess." Ginger's voice held some small apology, as if she realized that she was telling the man about his hometown, possibly his own livelihood and kin. "Ain't many buildings still whole. Your little village is damned near ruined. I didn't see many doors that hadn't been knocked in." She paused to lower her eyes and gather her breath. "Plenty of blood, though. And bodies."

"Anyone we know?" Jayne asked, his voice forced a bit too loud.

Kaylee shook her head. "No," she said softly. "I looked. None I saw were ours."

Jayne wasn't comforted. More than anything, he looked spooked, and his shoulders did a small shake. "They probably got taken. Anyone still living got taken. You know… for sport. Or whatever them things call it."

Kaylee dropped her face into her hands.

Ells reached out to lay a hand on the girl's back, but her face was grim. "We can't count on help coming anytime soon. Been a whole day now, but I dunno if anyone out there even knows what happened."

Jayne scowled at Ginger. "I'll bet _her_ pals know."

Ginger shook her head. "We weren't able to send a wave. None of us. The power grid's down."

Simon looked up from his work again. "Didn't you go to the ship?" he asked. "_Serenity_'s comm doesn't need outside power."

Kaylee shook her head without raising her face; her muffled voice was unsteady. "Couldn't get to her. Couldn't find her."

Jayne snorted. "Thought you waited till dawn so as you could see…"

Kaylee dropped her hands; her cheeks shone with tears. "The whole fueling platform's gone," she said. "It's nothing but a gaping hole." She turned her wet eyes on Ells, who was staring straight down at the ground.

"The tank went up," Ells said softly. "Them bastards ignited the fuel storage and blew my whole station to bits. Blast like that must have left pieces of your ship all round the valley. Probably some outside it too, all the way on up to Gigan's Peak."

Kaylee buried her face in her hands again.

.*. .*. .*.

As River watched Kaylee sob, she lost any need to grieve herself. Her eyes dried, not because she didn't _feel_, but because Kaylee was feeling everything for her. The sight of so much grief, so openly displayed, left River numb. She stood quietly in the shadows outside the brightest glow of the lamps and waited while the women—Ginger mostly—explained what they'd foraged, as well as how much more they could bring in on future trips.

Sometime later, after Simon finished with all his patients, River sat listlessly and let her brother take care of her. In time, she found herself tucked back in her hiding place with a blanket, water, and a few scraps of food. Simon spoke to her, but she hardly heard him and had nothing to say in reply. Eventually, he was called away, and she was alone again.

Except for her new friend, who had waited for her.

"We're going to die here," she told the young man.

"No, you won't," he replied. "You heard that local lady before—small folk can get out. You can get out."

"I won't," she said firmly. "I won't leave without Simon."

"You'll die for him?"

"I won't live without him. I can't."

The stranger moved closer. Lamps were lit in the cavern above, and River had enough light to fully make out his face. He was indeed about her age, with dark, thick hair and light blue eyes. He was tall, she decided.

"Of course you can live without your brother," he said. "You have to, if you want to really grow up, if you want to be your own person."

"I don't want to grow up without Simon." She dropped her head and pressed her fists against her temples. "I'm too afraid. I don't know what I'd become."

"Will you tell me?"

She lifted her eyes to his. "You should know it all already."

"I know some, but not everything. Not the things you're hiding from."

"I have good reasons to hide."

"Are you sure about that? How can you make sense of anything if you don't talk it out?"

She sat quietly and considered his question.

.*. .*. .*.

The days were a struggle. Kaylee found herself almost welcoming the time she spent twisting through impossible tunnels and cracks of stone, because at least that was true to how she felt. Her life had become a trap, a small, twisted passage with darkness at one end and the emptiness of death and destruction on the other.

Her ship was gone. Her captain and three other of her friends, gone.

When she was outside, she kept her eyes down and stayed busy. After several trips out, she knew the town nearly as well as the settlement, a world far from this one but not all that different, that she'd grown up in. She knew which houses had cellars full of canned food, how to get into the supply closet in the doctor's office, which well had the sweetest water. She also knew which houses to avoid because of the smell rising from those who'd met their end inside. For the same reason, she knew which paths through the woods not to follow.

But she and Ginger found their way about and, bit by bit, swarmed the town. They acted on Ells' advice once the local woman was too sick from infection to join them. Kaylee worked with the Alliance agent, a person she'd once thought she hated, and together they kept a steady supply of necessities coming to those who couldn't make the passage out.

Inside the caves, everything was different. Kaylee had to at least try to rest, but she found the darkness too stifling to be of much use. Sleep didn't restore, and food didn't nourish. She needed hope. She needed Simon.

During a long quiet spell when darkness outside kept her from making another trip, she bit her tongue and waited, same as she had for days. The injured people were first priority for the doctor, and she would not let herself interrupt his work. No matter that she wanted him beside her, to hold her, to tell her that Inara and Malcolm and Zoë and Wash were fine, that they had to be, that they'd somehow met up and gotten to the ship and escaped, and the only reason they hadn't come back was because…

Kaylee's imagination always failed her at this point.

A whispered voice pulled Kaylee out of her reverie. "Daddy thought I'd be all right," River murmured forcefully, as if she was explaining something to herself. The girl'd spent most of these days on her own, exploring the distant depths of the caves, but in the past hour she'd wandered close to the fire to collect a snack. "He said I had a good chance I ought not to miss. He wouldn't listen to me worrying about monsters lurking out in the Black. I thought he must be right, and I was wrong, so I tried to pretend that the bad things weren't real."

"The monsters were outside, honey," Kaylee said distractedly. In truth, she had only half a mind for River's ramblings. "And they're gone now."

River started and straightened, then turned to stare at Kaylee. "Malcolm Reynolds is out there too."

Kaylee's attention was caught by the name. The rest of this crew avoided this topic; it was too horrible to be dwelled on.

"I sure hope he is," Kaylee said, "and that the gods are with him."

"He needs more than gods," River replied softly. "We all do."

Kaylee sighed. Sadness tore at her heart, but also a wave of unbidden hope that she could barely contain. An idea had been growing in her mind that she was afraid to believe, and she certainly didn't want to speak of it to the others. She didn't want to raise hope that might prove false. So she held her silence until River meandered back into the shadows, then, in her exhaustion, Kaylee put voice to her thoughts. Speaking only to herself, she murmured quietly:

"I looked all over, and saw bits of lots of ships that tried to get away, but no pieces I was sure came from _Serenity_. How could my girl get blown up and not leave pieces I'd know?" She didn't wait for an answer, since it wouldn't be coming from anyone but herself. "Captain got to her, is what I think. Zoë and Wash found him and Inara, and they all got away. And for whatever reason they can't come back yet. I dunno why. But they will."

She straightened at the sound of approaching footfalls; Simon was taking a rare break. He sat heavily by the fire and reached for the stewpot that she'd been half-heartedly minding. The utilities for food prep were limited, and it was a non-stop effort to keep a steady supply of nourishment going.

Suddenly she was fed up with her chores. She reached out and stopped Simon from filling his bowl.

"I got a better idea," she said. "You done for now?"

He looked toward his patients; his exhaustion was plain in his face, and his reply was scattered. "I guess. They're stable. The supplies you brought helped. So much. But I can't do anything else now, except to stay nearby. I should be here, just in case…"

Kaylee sighed; it was time for him to let go, at least for a bit. He had a neatly organized little med clinic going now, with bedding and small pots of boiled water and an array of instruments, bandages, and medications.

"You done what you can, Simon," Kaylee said firmly. "Till we get these people out to a hospital with all its machinery, there's nothing else you can do for them."

He dropped his head and didn't attempt an argument.

"You need rest, time for yourself," Kaylee went on, then she added softly, "Need time for me, too." She was tired. Her body was a mess of bruises and scrapes from the passage through the narrow escape from the caves. She was a foul smelling, achy mess. She needed a little caring of her own.

Book appeared at Simon's side. The Shepherd flashed an understanding smile at Kaylee, then laid a hand on the doctor's shoulder. "I've got it. If I need anything, I'll come find you."

"I don't need sleep," Simon said dimly. "I've had naps."

Kaylee shook her head. "Curling up next to your patients, your last thought on laying down and first on waking all about infection and medication and bandages: that don't recharge no batteries."

"I don't have batteries."

"You won't no more if you keep on like this."

"Go," Book said. "That's an order. It's been days, and your patients are stable. You're due a few long hours off."

Simon couldn't argue with both of them, and he gave in with a helpless nod. Kaylee took a lantern, a blanket, and her ration of food and led Simon down a long, winding tunnel, then off on a narrow fork to the right. Twenty meters along, the crevice opened to a wide but shallow cavern. She'd found this place on one of her first jaunts out to the town, when she'd taken a wrong turn, and she'd promised herself to come back when she had time to explore it properly.

Several long columns rose from the floor, and stalactites hung down from above. Some pairs stretched far enough to meet, and the resulting tan-white pillars cut the light of the lamp, making eerie lines of shadow dance on the uneven walls as Kaylee wound through. A narrow paved walkway lined with the darkened hulls of electric lights led down along the center of the broad cavern. Ells had told her that, in ordinary times, tourists would have ridden along in trams while a variety of colored lights spilled over the beautiful, other-worldly rocks. Kaylee liked it better like this, all natural browns and grays and tans between the yellow-white beams from the lamp.

At the back of the cavern she approached a still pool; behind the silent water rose a wall like the side of a gigantic wedding cake, all white lace and arabesques and curlicues of frosting. She took Simon's hand and guided him under the handrail and off the pavement, and they carefully made their way down a few last, jagged steps to the now glowing pool. A flat rock made a perfect picnic spot, and the lantern, set on the edge of the shelf, lit the water a stunning icy blue-green.

Without saying a word, Kaylee slipped out of her dirty clothes and into the clear water.

.*. .*. .*.

River looked around a high, sharp corner of stone. The shoulders and heads of two people showed above the surface of a cyan pool below her. She watched them float to the center of the little pond, then stand and splash the crystalline water over their faces and massage it through their hair. The bath had an obvious effect: Kaylee's face slowly relaxed into something like a smile, and Simon's shoulders gradually lost their tension. When the pair finished cleaning and folded into each other's arms, River turned away.

"Are they—" her new friend started to ask, but River held a finger to her lips.

She led him up the long, dark walkway to the larger tunnel, but turned away from the main entrance. By now, she knew the narrow way out. She'd never tried to fit through, partly because she couldn't abandon her brother, but also because she was afraid. The thought of being wedged into a tight, twisted crack of rock, surrounded on all sides by stone that wouldn't give, made her skin crawl.

But the thought of staying here in the dark, of not ever seeing open sky again, was worse. She'd fought it, tried every trick of soothing and calming her own mind that she could imagine, but the pressure was building past what she could bear. The darkness had been pressing on her for days. It was too much; she had to get out. It'd just be for a little while, she told herself. Perhaps no one would even notice.

The opening was a thin crack in the main cavern's left. River stood before it, trying to make her flashlight's beam pierce the deep blackness, though it wasn't necessary that she see the way. Kaylee had told her about the route, and River knew what to do. She would have to work her way in, set her hands and feet against the two vertical surfaces of stone, then push herself up until she found the tunnel leading up and to her right.

"Will I fit?" her friend asked.

She lowered her eyes and the flashlight's beam so she could study her friend, who she knew quite well by now. She had a very good idea of his build. Though his shoulders were broad, they were bony. He was young enough to be slim and lithe.

"Can you contort?" she replied.

She left him to decide for himself. Turning away, she started to climb.

.*. .*. .*.

"Near five days it's been," Jayne said.

"We've made much progress in that time," Book replied. The people hiding in the caves now had food, blankets, light, and basic medical care, though they were still lacking in sunshine and options.

"Progress?" Jayne threw a hateful look at the pile of boulders at the highest end of the large cavern. He'd tried to organize an effort to clear the rubble from the shattered entryway, but it'd been slow and dangerous work. And, apparently, fruitless. "I skinned my hands down to the bone, and all's I got to show is two boulders rolled out of the way and three times the whole damned pile near fell on us all."

Book's eyes creased in concern. "Let me see." He reached for one of Jayne's hands, but the mercenary pulled them back defensively. Book understood; the mercenary had been exaggerating. About the injury anyway, not about the lack of progress.

"But look, Jayne." Book tilted his chin into the cavern. "We have light, warmth, food. Besides the poor woman we lost that first night, Simon has kept all the injured alive. If necessary, we can exist like this for some time."

"You got the right word, there," Jayne said bitterly. "_Exist_. That's all we're doin'. Blundering about in the dark."

Book guessed the true reason for Jayne's foul mood: the man hadn't provided any of the aid that was keeping these people alive. The mercenary was battling something that had to be new to him: helplessness. He'd thrown his efforts into the one task that physical bulk and a strong, stubborn will could accomplish, and all he'd gotten out of it was a near avalanche of stone. He'd had to give up eventually, and now he could only sit and wait with the rest of them.

It couldn't help that the survival of all these people, Jayne included, had largely been due to a woman the mercenary could not stand. Even now Ginger was crouched by a fuel stove that she and Kaylee had wrestled down to the caves, frying something that filled the cavern with a mouth-watering smell. When she finished her cooking, she offered the meal to one of the injured.

"This ain't the way I pictured it, Shepherd," Jayne said.

"What?"

Jayne dropped his head, and his shoulders slumped.

"Death?" Book guessed. "You think we're going to die down here?"

"You think we won't? This community-care thing we got goin' is real nice and all, but it won't last. Sooner or later them that can fit out that rat hole will go, and the rest of us…"

"Jayne, the village above is not as isolated as you seem to think. There had to have been supply lines, communication, friends and family on the other side of the world. Those people will figure out what's happened, and they'll come. They could be here, even now."

Jayne looked over his shoulder at the pile of rubble just a handful of meters from where he sat. He seemed to be trying to imagine a work crew setting up equipment on the far side of the ruined entrance.

"Perhaps," Book went on, "instead of worrying so much about what's happening here, you ought to be thinking about what you'll do once you're free again."

Jayne gave Book one of those tense looks of his, jaw thrown forward as if he meant to take a bite out of something that annoyed him. But he only pushed up and walked off into the shadows.

.*. .*. .*.

No sunlight greeted River's escape from the underworld, but the fresh air was all she needed as an elixir. She turned her face up to the stars as she walked, and it seemed as if the soft air rustling the leaves of pine and aspen were the voices of her internal joy. Never had she prized freedom and light—even the dimness of starlight—so highly.

A sharp, unpleasant smell cut through her reverie, a reminder of something she didn't want to recall. Decay. Death. She lowered her eyes and found the source of it, a horror lying in a clearing at her feet. She turned and ran. The town in the small valley held nightmares that she could not let herself see.

To her relief, her new friend was beside her. He took her hand and together they climbed partway up a low hill over the valley. After a time they found a nearly level slope of stone and settled onto it. River sat and looked down at the ruins of what once had been homes and businesses rising from between the trees. She realized how quiet it was, and dark. Either everyone had died, or the survivors had scattered far into the hills to hide. Even after five days, no rescue had arrived to tempt them back toward the ashes of their homes.

The emptiness and despair was too much to contemplate, so she laid back and looked at the stars.

"Maybe it's better that no one's come," her friend said. He was lying beside her.

She turned her head to glance at him. "Why's that?"

He smiled and squeezed her hand. "They'd take you away."

She liked hearing sweet words like that, especially after she'd so recently decided that she'd be alone forever. But as much as she'd like to cling to this friendship, she couldn't let herself. It was incredibly selfish.

She looked back at the cold, distant stars. "Someone will have to come, or everyone in the caves will die."

His voice was light. "Maybe they'll live in the dark forever, like vampires. Your brother could be a vampire."

Despite herself, she laughed. "Yes. He'd be a very good undead."

"And he wouldn't get lonely, since Kaylee's with him."

Her laughter died. "No. Kaylee couldn't stay there. She can't live in the dark. It's not in her."

"You still think it's in you?"

Her new friend was insightful; she curled onto to her side so she could study his profile, pleased to see the sharp nose and deep eye sockets she'd sculpted in the darkness of the caves lit by the silver light of stars. She'd done well with him.

"You've known me for many days now," she whispered. "We've talked about everything I can think of. So what do you think?"

He glanced at her, his blue eyes keen in the dim light. She hoped that, somehow, he would be able to see deeper into her soul than her own eyes could pierce.

"You have shadows," he said, "but you're a person, like anybody else. You need comfort just like they do."

She sighed. "Everyone else gets comfort. Simon and Kaylee. The captain and Inara. Zoë and Wash. Even Jayne has Book to talk nice to him, when he's blue."

"And you?"

"Don't have anyone." She stopped herself. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to feel sorry for myself. They care, but they can't understand. I thought that maybe they could, some of them. One of them, at least."

Of course, he immediately knew what she meant. "The captain?" he asked.

She nodded. "The captain. I imagined it perfect with him, but it wasn't. Playing pretend is dangerous, and it doesn't work. I have to try to stay in the real world. Even if it hurts."

"But how can you tell if you are in the real world? If much of what you sense is impossible, how do you know you're not still in a dream?"

She pondered his words. "Is this impossible?"

"Don't have to ask me. You know." He rolled onto his side so he could hold her gaze. "You're not like anyone else, River. You know what people are thinking. You know how they feel."

"I also know how to kill."

"You never meant to."

"That man at the Academy," she whispered. "I killed him."

His reply was just as quiet. "He was hurting you. He wouldn't let you go."

"And I made him pay."

"You're a fighter, River. Like or not, that's what you are. It doesn't make you evil. You have to forgive yourself. I forgive you."

"You do?"

"Of course."

She closed her eyes and could almost feel the warmth of his hand on her cheek. "Don't leave. I don't want to be alone."

"You don't have to be alone. You have friends."

"My friends don't know what I am. As much as they may want to, they can't give me the things I need."

She squeezed her eyes tightly closed and imagined him moving closer, the security of his arms around her, the comfort of his body against hers. She turned away from him and imagined snuggling back into the warmth of his embrace.

"I wish you were real," she said.

"You don't have to be afraid to be alone," was the reply. "You're not evil. If you don't believe yourself about that, believe me."

"Same thing," she said. "But that's not what I mean. I wish you were real because…"

"Tell me."

"You know."

She imagined a smile against the back of her neck. "Yes, I know. Before, you die, you'd kind of like to have sex."

His soft, nonexistent fingers patted her arm sympathetically.

.*. .*. .*.

She woke just before dawn, alone. The sky was beautiful, except now in the pale blue light she could see the full ruin of the town. The wrecked trees and hollowed, blackened buildings sickened her, and the law crater in the far side of the valley made her want to sob, just as Kaylee had after her first trip out.

River couldn't look at the valley for long, but nor could she be still. As the empty minutes passed she began to pace, and she soon found that her impatient feet were slowly carrying her back down into the valley. She was hungry, thirsty, and lonely, and her courage was failing her. But she couldn't possibly go into the town and face the death she'd find there. If only she had someone to bring her what she needed…

She imagined her friend walking out from the trees. He could hold everything she craved: food, water, a blanket, a change of clothes.

"None of that is real," she said. "You have nothing to give me."

"I'm sorry," he replied.

She tried to meet his gaze, but his face was blurry, the color of his eyes now unclear. She couldn't decide what features he should have: black hair, brown, blond. Long silky locks or a short, ticklish stubble. Black eyes, blue, or something in between.

It didn't matter.

"I played pretend before," she told the shadow that was Him. "I thought it was perfect. I was wrong. I have to stick with what's real now." She scratched her head. "I have to ignore all these things. My dreams. They're not real. I have to shut them out. I have to shut you out too. I'm sorry."

The man-shaped blur nodded, then smiled and raised his hand. And then he was gone.

She walked toward the hole in the rock that she'd climbed out of the night before. Muddy footsteps from Kaylee's many sorties led out, as if it was a well-traveled and common way, but River could only stand and stare. It was a black, ugly space, a small, rotten crevice cutting into a low cliff face. In daylight she could see mushrooms and cobwebs and little beetles scurrying away from the almost risen sun, and her stomach twisted when she imagined herself emerging from this crevice in the blackness of midnight, like some monster birthed from the filth of the underworld. How had Kaylee ever managed to go back in to such a place, once she'd escaped?

River knew: Kaylee had gone back for Simon.

Simon might know that River was gone now; he might be worried. She had to go back. But the thought of climbing into the horrible dark hole, of leaving the clean, clear air, fresh sunlight, and tall green trees behind was unbearable. She stepped back from the cavern's entrance and turned in a circle. She wanted her friend back. Real or not, she couldn't face this choice alone.

"Rock and a hard place," she said to herself. If she didn't return to the darkness below, what could she do? She couldn't go into that graveyard of a town, but she wouldn't know how to survive in the mountains. She needed help, or she couldn't survive.

Again she stepped up the narrow passage in the rock. She switched on her flashlight and shone it through the crevice, and even reached out a hand. But she could go no further. It smelled in there. It was a nightmare of decay, darkness, and despair.

She switched off the light, stepped back, and stared up into the brightening sky. She'd just wait. Kaylee and Ginger would come out again, sometime. She'd wait for them to find her. Simon would worry, but she couldn't do anything about that. He'd find out that she was all right eventually, and he'd be fine.

She folded her legs and sat heavily in the thin grass. It was a relief, to know she wouldn't have to go in that place again. She'd stay here, in the hills, starving if she had to, and wait for some kind of rescue. But at least she'd have light, and air, and perhaps even hope. The rush of her fear slowed, but the roaring of blood in her ears didn't go away. It only got louder.

Again she looked to the sky. Her eyes found sunlight glinting sharply off a parade in the early morning blue, a neat structure, clean and well-ordered. The roaring in her ears was not blood, she realized, and this was no ordinary sunrise. An array of ships cleared the mountains with a grand show of flame, an exhibit put on for one small girl and a collection of corpses. Hers might be the only living eyes that could read the markings on the proud lead ship as it descended toward the valley: Alliance.

River yelped as she jumped to her feet. Pausing barely long enough to switch on her flashlight, she dove into the grimy tunnel.

.*. .*. .*.


	20. Chapter 20

**Back Stories III: Chapter 20  
**By mal4prez

_

* * *

_

The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money.

* * *

Five days ago

Malcolm leaned against the railing bordering the street and folded his arms, enjoying the smell of the mountain air while he waited for his errand-running companion to finish her business.

He soon realized that the local ladies passing by were noticing him, so he took to noticing them right back. He saw no silk, no curls, no heeled shoes. These women wore rough denim or corduroy, heavy leather boots, and had hair pulled back and skin coarse from the sun and wind. He couldn't help but smile and nod as they passed; he knew and was fond of these kinds of women. They'd be strong workers, good shots, and lively drinkers with tales to match anything he'd seen or done on his mother's ranch. He'd happily spend an hour with any of them, just to hear their talk and drink in their crackling eyes and ready smiles.

But, oddly, he found that as soon as they passed he forget the details of their faces and forms. In his mind, he kept seeing satiny golden skin, dark eyes, and tight curls of ebon hair that his fingers ached to comb through and mess.

Malcolm found his eyes returning to the half open windows of the building next door, though he had to lean back and tilt sideways for a clear view. The woman doing business at the bank's counter was an entirely different kind of female creature then any he'd known. He might have thought he had a handle on her type—a wealthy, high-class citizen of the Alliance, therefore weak, judgmental, and apathetic—but she'd surprised him. Inara Serra was nothing like weak, and her judgment, though it sometimes knocked him off kilter, was insightful and fair. But what got to him most about her was the genuine depth of her feeling. Nothing about this woman felt contrived, as he would have expected from one whose affections were for hire.

The Companion flashed a smile at the teller as she finished her business. Malcolm straightened and pushed himself away from the railing; he didn't want her to know that he'd been watching her.

When she stepped out into the sun, Inara's eyes found him and her face lit up. It was a different kind of smile than she'd shown in the bank, warmer, and Malcolm felt himself basking, as if her golden skinned face rivaled the glow of the sun.

"That's a start," Inara said. She lightly patted her hip, where Malcolm made out the small bulge of a money belt hidden under her full skirt. "How are we on time?"

Malcolm checked his watch. "Got plenty."

"Good. They told me that there's another bank across the street. I'd like to make a second withdrawal."

He squinted his question at her.

"I shouldn't take too much in one transaction," she explained. "It might draw attention. But I have a second account I can access while I have the opportunity."

He nodded, then offered his arm. She immediately took it and he led her down the wooden sidewalk.

"Folks here sure are friendly," he ventured. "I had several hallos while I was waitin' for you."

She smiled up at him and squeezed his arm just a bit tighter. "Good. I'm glad to see you're feeling better."

He turned his face away and felt his shoulders tense. He'd almost forgotten that he'd recently been feeling "worse," but he certainly had. And she knew it. Inara was not a stupid woman, and she must have seen how scattered he'd been on that ferry ride over from New Melbourne, especially at the end of the trip when things went out of his control. First he'd had an offer of love that, for no reason that he could logic out, had made his skin crawl. Then, not twenty minutes later, he'd exploded in murderous hate, as if such a mood was his natural state. He couldn't deny that all he'd felt in the moment he'd pulled the trigger on Will Cantone was exhilaration and joy, and he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to make peace with himself over it.

He realized that he was brooding in silence when Inara spoke up to gently disturb his thoughts. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sour the day with unpleasant reminders."

He forced himself to relax. "Not at all. I am feelin' better. Had some heart to heart with Kaylee while the ship was coming down to land. She sure is a fine young lady."

Inara smiled fondly. "Yes, she certainly is. I've been an admirer of _Serenity_'s mechanic from the first day I met her."

"The girl can have an effect on one. Just like all this sunshine, after so many days in the dark." He stopped when they reached a corner so he could focus his attention on the traffic. "In fact," he went on when the street was clear and they continued on their way, "I'm feeling so fine that I don't mind delivering an apology long due."

Her eyebrows shot up, as if his offer surprised her. "An apology? To me?"

"Yes, to you. I regret that I might have said some things, here and there, that weren't as gentleman-like as I'd have liked."

"Gentleman-like?" She laughed. "Is that a priority to you?"

He frowned down at her, wondering if she really had such a dark opinion of him.

"I'm sorry again," she quickly amended. "That was ungracious. Believe me, Malcolm, you have nothing to apologize to me for. You have been… honest. You have been honest and sincere. I must assure you that, even if we haven't always agreed, I have nothing but respect for you."

Her words refreshed his smile, and as soon as they stepped up on the wooden walk again, he looked sidelong at her. "I could say the same." He tightened his hold on her arm. "You know, there's just one thing I can't figure about you, miss."

Her dark eyes twinkled. "Just one?"

"Well, for the moment."

"Fire away."

"Don't mind if I do. So tell me, Miss Inara Serra: why'd you come out here?"

She turned her gaze to a fine pair of ponies in the street and didn't reply.

He went on. "I mean, to think of all a lady like you must have had, but here you are choosing to fly with this gang of ruffians, fightin' to survive in the heathen wilds of the `verse." He half-laughed at his exaggeration as he glanced about the peaceful town, then glanced at her to take in her reaction. She still made none. "But seriously, why choose this path?"

Her face was placid, her smile firmly fixed, but her eyes fell to the wooden walkway at her feet and her voice was subdued. "Perhaps I wanted an adventure."

"Perhaps," he said with some doubt. "It sure is an adventure, being out here. Maybe more than one would want, or one would stick with for the long haul. So I can't help wonderin' if you mean to—"

"And here we are," Inara interrupted brightly. He looked to his left; they had arrived at the town's second bank. He was disappointed that the settlement wasn't large enough to require a longer walk; he didn't want this conversation to end.

"I'll just be a moment," Inara said, and she tried to pull her arm from his.

Malcolm managed to hold onto her hand, gripping it to keep her beside him. She looked up at him, her expression a smile, but her eyes held a question. In the shade of the building, the light on her face was soft, or maybe it was a mix of freshness and dust in the air that clouded his vision. He felt drawn to her, stuck in a quiet moment in the midst of the chaos of the town's foot traffic. The bustle and cheerful noise seemed like nothing more than a buffer, and Malcolm felt that he and Inara were, for the moment, completely alone.

"I ain't never met anyone like you," he said softly. He lifted his free hand and pushed a wayward tuft of hair from her cheek. He let his hand linger there, tucking the curl behind her ear.

"I'd have to second that," she replied, though her words were hesitant. His touch seemed to distract her. "About you I mean. But then, my experiences have been… somewhat limited."

He leaned closer to her, emboldened by the way she seemed unnerved. "Limited?" he asked with a small smile.

Her face tilted up to his. "Actually, yes. As far as knowing… a man… like you…"

The bank's doors opened with a loud chime and a departing customer bumped against Inara. She looked away to acknowledge the stranger's apology, and Malcolm had to drop his hand from her cheek. The quiet moment was lost.

"I'll be… right back," Inara muttered. She didn't raise her eyes to his. "I'll be just a moment," she added unnecessarily, then she disappeared into the darkness of the building.

Malcolm stepped back, jostled by a swell in the crowd, and stumbled off the edge of the walk. He didn't mind; in fact, he couldn't stop smiling. Something had almost happened there. He'd made her nervous. He'd made her mumble like a nervous school girl. Inara Serra, Companion, had just said that she'd never known a man like him.

He found himself standing in the road as a carriage, harness creaking and jingling, passed just behind him. He jumped out of his happy thoughts and looked after the wagon and its cursing driver. The long central lane of the town slanted downhill to the east, allowing an open view of sky above the low plains. Far out on the horizon, a black shadow was growing in the pale blue sky.

Malcolm's eyes widened. "What's that?" he asked himself.

.*. .*. .*.

Her transaction complete, Inara crossed the bank's small lobby and stepped into the bright noon time sun. She squinted and searched the slowly strolling crowds on the walk before finding Malcolm in the center of the street. Drivers of passing carriages were too well mannered to run him over, though the comments directed his way might of flayed a more attentive man. He didn't seem to notice; he stood motionless, staring open-mouthed toward the east.

"Malcolm!" Inara called out. "Come out of the road!"

He must have heard her because his head slowly shook in response, but his eyes never wavered from the horizon.

She stepped down off the walk, intending to pull him out of traffic, but had to pause to see what held him so rapt. The sight in the eastern sky made her freeze beside him

"It's just a ship," Malcolm muttered. "I guess it's just a ship. But something about it… It's makin' me feel…"

A year ago, Inara would have had no idea what bothered him, but now she'd heard the stories. She knew what the tendrils of black smoke polluting the clear sky behind the quickly approaching vessel could mean.

"We should go back to _Serenity_," she whispered, her throat suddenly too tight to carry her words with any force. She raised her hand to Malcolm's arm, though shock and disbelief still held her feet in place.

"Yeah, I think that'd be wise," Malcolm replied. He didn't move either.

Inara's stomach felt like a lead weight, but she somehow made herself turn and take a step. Her mind racing, she towed Malcolm along behind her by a tight grasp of his sleeve. He wouldn't turn his back on the approaching ship, and he was no longer the only one staring. Locals began to raise their eyes and murmur their own questions over the rising rumble of the ship's engines: _What is it…? Ain't right… reminds me… I heard once… Can't be…_

"Reavers," Inara said, the word coming barely more than a quiet gasp. She couldn't seem to speak in a full voice. "Reavers."

An old man caught her and jerked her to a stop. "What was that?" he demanded, his breath sour in her face. "What'd you just say, lady?"

She looked to the sky again. The ship was closer now, close enough that ragged tears in its hull could be plainly seen. The sight wiped away any hope that she might have been wrong; she'd heard about this detail from _Serenity_'s crew, from Mal and Zoë.

Malcolm knew it, too, somewhere inside himself. He stood beside her, his face ashen and eyes darting around helplessly, from the ship that was nearly overhead now to the distant fueling platform where the tips of _Serenity_'s upturned engines could just be seen over the trees. The fear in his eyes made Inara finally find her voice. She couldn't count on Malcolm Reynolds right now. She couldn't count on anyone. She had to take action, and she had to do it quickly; the golden sunlight was suddenly cut off as the ship arrived overhead.

"Reavers," she told the old man firmly. "They're Reavers." She pulled free of his grip and turned in the street, catching the eye of everyone near her. "They're Reavers! Run! Everyone get away!"

A shriek of torn metal rang out, making Inara stop and cower. She froze in the street and held a warding arm over her head as she looked for the source of the sound. A small craft had been caught out of midair by a grapple. Its engines didn't stop firing, and it pulled the Reaver ship away from the town, letting the sun in again, though the light was now polluted by falling wisps of smoke.

"What is this?" Malcolm demanded, his face upturned. "Reavers? You serious? Gorramn Reavers?"

Inara grabbed his arm again and started forward through a suddenly thick and chaotic crowd. Before she'd gone ten paces, the shadow of the Reaver ship returned. Lines shot down, thick ropes ending in hooks that bit into trees, walls, and rooftops. Dark figures started down the ropes, but then the ship slid sideways again, pulled by another snared transport. The anchors tore free and a few of the descending Reavers lost their grip, screaming their rage as they plunged to the ground. The rest dangled from the ropes, waiting for a chance to continue their invasion.

Malcolm was still muttering behind Inara: "Oh, my good lord. They can't be real!" She didn't try to reply over the noise, but started to run, pulling him behind her. She didn't make easy progress through the crowd: a panic had descended on the streets of the town.

A few stalwarts seemed to be prepared to fight. When the ship above them steadied and the landing lines again shot down, a volley of bullets immediately went up. Dark shadows of creatures in torn clothing, hair wild and faces fixed in demented grimaces, slid down the ropes, but few of the first wave reached the ground whole.

One bullet-ridden body fell in Inara's path. She turned her eyes aside quickly to avoid the horror of its face and its many wounds: not all were recent. The thing festered so badly that its smell instantly reached her, and her stomach turned a long, slow circle. Hearing about such things hadn't prepared her for seeing them, and for a moment she lost her way. Her mind clouded and, though her eyes hadn't stopped working, she felt nearly blind. The oily black smoke fell heavily now, mixing with red-brown dust kicked up by the ship's laboring engines.

Sharper screams rose around her. Some of the Reavers had made it to the ground alive and fighting. The attack seemed to be coming from everywhere. The people of the town didn't know which way to run, and in their panic they bumped into Inara from all sides, making her lose her grip on Malcolm's arm. She lost sight of him entirely and turned about, unsure of which way to go.

Suddenly, strong, sheltering arms circled Inara's waist, pulling her aside, up a step and over a rough surface of wooden planks. A door slammed shut behind her, shutting her into relative darkness and quiet. She felt hands on her cheeks and found herself staring into worried blue eyes.

"Miss Serra? Inara? Inara—you all right?"

"Mal!" she gasped. His voice, his grip, his eyes; all pulled her out of the panic that had gripped her. "Where are we?"

"Out'a the way, for now at least."

"Thank you. I couldn't… I didn't know what to do."

"Well, I ain't sure that I improved things much. But at least we're clear of the madness."

She took in her surroundings. They were in a shop, a room lined with shelves full of wood carvings and colorful polished stones. The main counter was littered with empty boxes. She stepped closer and read the labels; the boxes had once held ammo. Whoever had left this place had done it fighting.

Malcolm was beside her. "Maybe they left something for us," he said. He circled behind the counter and began searching the shop's cabinets. Inara understood. They needed weapons.

.*. .*. .*.

As Wash dashed into the sun ahead of her, Zoë took a last glimpse back into the cargo bay: River stood at the far end, confused and terrified, the blanket she had been clutching around her shoulders lying forgotten at her feet. The Shepherd was standing by with a pair of guns in his hands as Jayne burst through the aft hatch, yelling over his shoulder at Simon to hurry.

Zoë turned away; that particular chaos was no longer her business. She had other folk to rescue.

She caught up to Wash on the stairs leading down from the platform, and at the bottom she tapped his shoulder and motioned with her hands—_follow me, stay quiet_. The violence in the little town's center was still some distance away, but she wasn't about to assume that the woods near her were clear. She veered off the narrow dirt road and ducked into the trees to her right.

Just on the edge of the town's center, Zoë and Wash encountered a wide open lot. Downed timber was stacked neatly around the edges of the clearing and the beginnings of a stone foundation rose from in its center. Wash almost ran right into the open, but Zoë caught him and pulled him back. The Reaver ship was nearly above them, and she would take no risks. They'd be staying under the cover of the trees, even if it meant some delay.

It turned out to be a wise decision. They were barely halfway around the clearing when a black-sided, shuttle, its hull scarred and stained, landed right in the middle of the open space. Zoë dove behind a pile of chopped wood, pulling Wash down beside her.

"Don't!" she hissed when he raised his rifle. "You'll only draw them to us."

She rose on her knees to stare through a small opening in the wood pile; the creatures that poured off the shuttle paused to sniff the air, then fanned out. They were on the hunt.

Frustration and fear played on Wash's face as he clutched his gun and looked about with wild eyes. Zoë laid a calming hand on his chest and kept him still. Fortunately, the off-loading Reavers saw prey toward the direction of the town and none came near the woodpile.

"If there's something I don't want to do," Zoë said, half to herself, "it's follow on the heels of a Reaver raiding party."

"But we have to," Wash said. "Mal and Inara are in there."

Zoë nodded and they both rose up, staring over the woodpile.

"You think the shuttle's empty?" Wash asked.

"We got to risk it. Can't wait here all—"

They both whirled at a noise in the trees behind them, setting their backs against the wood and taking aim, but Zoë quickly lifted the muzzle of her gun and reached out to steady Wash's hand. It wasn't Reavers. A trio of locals armed with nothing more than axes had circled behind the wood pile, doing their best to stay out of the landing party's path.

The three men collapsed to the ground beside the Washbourns. They were breathing hard and looked to be nearly in a panic.

"Do you know what's happening?" Zoë asked.

"Pirates…?" one of them asked, his eyes wide.

"Reavers," she corrected. "Gorramn Reavers that you can't fight. No one can. Don't you dare even try! Collect all the people you can and get to those caverns. Wait wait!" she yelled when they started to run. "I got friends in town, strangers. A man and woman. Both dark-haired, tall man in a leather coat, small pretty woman. Doing business with the banks."

Two of the locals shook their heads and ran off without reply, but one, a bony, pale-skinned man, paused a moment longer to crouch beside them and nod. "Strangers. Two of `em. They ducked into Ned's craft shop right up there. You see? You see?" The man half stood and pointed towards the main road.

Through a break in the smoke and dust filling the street, Zoë made out the building he meant. "Thank you kindly," she said. "Now you get to shelter." He ran off immediately, but she yelled after him: "And you take everyone you find on the way!"

Screams in the distance rose; people in the town were being victimized in a way Zoë had to force herself not to picture. She'd seen this before, but couldn't let herself remember. Not now, when Mal was somewhere out there in it.

.*. .*. .*.

The shop held no guns. A stockroom in back had a cabinet meant for a pair of rifles, but it had been emptied. The best Inara and Malcolm could find were knives in a display case; the handles were thickly encrusted in semi-precious stones, and the blades were long, but they weren't at all sharp.

"I don't think these'll do much for us," Malcolm said. "Unless them nightmare monsters are like to get fascinated by shiny things." He twisted the dull blade of his purple-hilted knife side to side in the air in front of him.

"They're better than nothing," Inara replied. "With enough pressure, even a dull blade will break the skin."

"If you say so."

Inara sighed; she couldn't tell if this was the careless teen or the strong-willed captain she was dealing with, and she didn't have time for a full psychiatric assessment of the man.

"As far as I've heard," he went on, "a few blades, pretty rocks and all, won't get us far against—"

A crash shock the store's front wall and they both jumped and looked toward the wide window next to entrance. Inara immediately squeezed her eyes shut, but it was too late. She'd already seen. Against her lids, the frozen outline of a powerful figure swung a long sword out and upward. A thick stream of red poured off the blade as a smaller body collapsed before it, cleanly split in two.

"Merciful Buddha!" she gasped as Malcolm her pulled into the shadows.

.*. .*. .*.

Entering the chaos in the village's center was like descending through time. Zoë had seen action in spades while smuggling on the remote worlds, but she hadn't been on a battlefield, or in a true slaughter, since she'd left the war behind in Serenity Valley.

So she found herself looking at the streets of the small mountain town through younger eyes, or maybe the sights were processed through a part of her brain that had been laying dormant all this time. She'd almost forgotten the clarity and coldness of combat. It came back to her in full now, fitting as snugly as a favorite sweater dug from the bottom of a deep cedar chest. She knew as surely as she knew herself that no time could be spent pondering the price of bad choices or bad luck. She'd act as her instincts demanded, and only later, if she survived, would she stop to take stock of the damage caused by her mistakes.

A crash of broken glass above her head made her jump sideways and press into the wall of the building to her right. "Get down!" she snapped at her husband. Wash moved, but he went the wrong way. He staggered out into the open center of the street, looking up into the smoky gloom of the sky with an expression of confusion. He didn't seem to realize that he was facing an attack from above.

A dark shape surrounded by sparkling shards of glass fell from a second story window. The creature hit the ground hard and crumpled, but managed to roll to its feet without losing grip of the long, cruel blade in its hand. With the heartless focus and power of a predator, it rose to its feet facing Wash.

Zoë aimed her carbine, but her husband was in her line of fire, directly behind the Reaver. Wash didn't shoot either; the sight of the thing's face seemed to have stunned him into paralysis. Zoë jumped forward and, keeping her carbine ready in her right hand, pulled a large knife from her hip with her left.

The Reaver paused for a bare second, as if to enjoy Wash's terror. It's cruel hesitation gave Zoë the chance to take two silent steps forward and bury her long dagger in the back of the monster's neck, severing its spine. She pulled her knife free, grabbed her husband, and pushed him back into the shade of the building before the Reaver's limp body even hit the ground.

"Damnit Wash," she found herself hissing harshly. "You're gonna get yourself killed!"

He only stared and blinked, as if her hard words were more shocking than the attack. But she had no time to be gentle with him; this was war and her husband needed a wake up call.

"If you can't handle the heat here," she added, "maybe you ought to slink your way out to those caverns and hide."

His eyes crackled and his reply was stubborn. "To hell with that! The thing caught me by surprise is all. I wasn't expecting—"

"Exactly." _And I almost had to watch you die_. "I can't cover you. You've got to handle yourself better. I need to know you're—"

Her lecture was cut short by a burst of activity further down the street, a crash of splintered wood and an inhuman scream, then the lively crackle of flames.

Zoë cursed to herself. They were too visible here. "Què ding, bèi hòu," she told Wash, and she turned away. Trusting him to follow, she pressed her shoulder against the rough wood of the wall and moved further into the town.

Billowing smoke and dust obscured her view, and the continued snarls and growls of the Reaver ship overhead made it hard to locate the sounds of violence and death around her. As she stepped up on the wooden walkway that lined the central blocks of the village, she saw a few large, grunting figures running toward distant screams and gunfire as if the sounds were the tinkle of an ice cream wagon. These creatures didn't fear pain or death. Rather, they were drawn to it as if they savored the horror that would make any sane human wither.

A brief breeze cleared the air enough that she could locate the craft shop that the local man, the one with the ax and the frightened eyes, had pointed out. She darted toward the building, sprinting down the street into the smoke and jumping up on the walkway, but pulled up short as the thick air parted again to reveal a gruesome sight. A pair of Reavers were on their hands and knees, rending the fresh corpse of a human that had been cleanly split in two.

The creatures abandoned their sport when they saw a livelier meal approaching. Zoë didn't mean to be nourishment for either of them. She took one down quickly with her rifle: a shot to the chest, then, because it kept moving, a second blast to its already mutilated face.

The second Reaver moved inhumanly fast. It dove past her and managed to knock the gun from her hand, then rose to its feet again and jumped at her.

A blast from over her shoulder took the monster's head off.

"So who was it needed cover?" Wash asked, his smoking shotgun still braced against his shoulder.

Zoë nodded her thanks, then picked up her rifle and hurried to the door to the gift shop.

It was locked. She knocked out the glass beside the doorknob and reached through, then shoved the door ajar against a heavy wooden table that braced it shut. She stumbled in and found herself on the wrong end of a large and horribly gaudy crystal-studded knife. The arm that wielded it was hidden behind the door, but the hand seemed human enough.

"It's all right!" Zoë yelled. "I ain't one of `em!"

The knife pulled away, and a familiar voice rose out of the shadows deeper in the shop. "Zoë!"

"Inara? Is Mal here?"

"Yeah," the man replied himself as he stepped into her view. He'd been the one brandishing the purple and silver knife at her throat. He moved aside so the Washburns could slip through the door. Malcolm had his wits together enough that he immediately locked the door and pushed the heavy table against it again.

"Zoë, thank the gods!" Inara said. "Where is everyone else?"

"Caverns," Zoë said shortly. "And that's where we need to go. There ain't no takin' off, not with the Reavers and their grappling hook up there."

A heavy crash like a battering ram splintered the door behind Zoë and Wash: the Reavers had followed them.

.*. .*. .*.

Translations

Què ding, bèi hòu: OK, get behind me.


	21. Chapter 21

**Back Stories III: Chapter 21  
**By mal4prez

_

* * *

_

The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money.

* * *

Zoë, Wash, Malcolm, and Inara made quick use of the back door of the gift shop, throwing down heavily laden wooden shelves in the stockroom behind them as they passed. This gained them a few precious seconds, and they made it out of the building and into heavy brush before their pursuit broke into the open behind them.

They ran on, Zoë leading, Wash in the rear, for at least a hundred meters westward up the valley before stopping behind a large red-gold rock that seemed to spring right out of the ground. Zoë pushed the others behind her and waited, catching her breath, her rifle in her hands, her carbine ready on her hip.

"They comin"?" Malcolm asked in a whisper. "Those Reavers comin' for us?"

Zoë shook her head. "They're out there, though. I hear `em. They're looking for us." Her eyes and ears followed distant rustlings in the trees and she wrinkled her nose in disgust. "I take that back—I think they're _sniffing_ for us."

"Caverns," Wash said, and he nodded toward the small, burbling creek that passed a little further along their path. The cave's entrance was just up the valley across the brook, west and south of them.

Zoë quickly nodded her approval of her husband's plan. "You lead."

The small group crossed the ice-cold water, laboring against the current in the deepest spot where the melting snows of early summer had the water running above their knees. Zoë followed a few steps behind the other three, her eyes and aim watching their tail, but it wasn't more than ten meters past the stream when her back bumped against Inara.

"What the dìyù?" Zoë demanded in a whisper. She turned to find Wash holding a finger to his lips, and quickly saw why he'd stopped them all behind a clump of young evergreens. A group of Reavers was just ahead of them, a large group, at least a dozen of the things loping through the forest. Fortunately, the monsters were focused on something further across the valley: the caves.

Gunfire suddenly rang out ahead; the invaders had been sighted, and a resistance was quickly being mounted. Most of the bullets fired by the defenders missed their intended targets and whistled through the branches over Zoë's head. "Get down!" she ordered. "We're on the wrong side of this battle!"

Their only choice was to reverse course quickly; they all stooped low and ran back toward the stream.

"We've got to find another way around," Zoë said after they'd returned across the water to shelter against the tall red stone again. "We can help fight those things off, but not if we're getting hit by fire from our own."

"Our own?" Inara asked, then her eyes lit in understanding. "Jayne and the others are the ones putting up the fight?"

"If our fine Mr. Cobb hasn't gotten Book and the Tams over to the caves by now, and if he ain't doing his best to protect them, he can find a new job." Zoë glanced into the woods toward town; though the forest was quiet, a suddenly shifting bough here and there caught her eye, and she could hear the occasional crackle of stones under heavy feet. The hunters were still out there.

"We have to circle north," Zoë said. "Go up the valley a bit, then double back on the other side of the cave's entry."

They didn't make it far; the valley was too narrow. They covered barely twenty meters before being blocked by a curving wall of stone, a crumbling ledge shaped by age-old meanderings of the stream. Dust puffed from the upper edge of the bluff now and then as stray bullets from the shootout at the cavern's entrance found it. The four of them hunkered down behind a small brown boulder at the wall's foot just as a blast sounded behind them, followed by a distant hoot of fierce battle-joy from a familiar voice.

"I guess Jayne did get there," Inara said.

"And he brought grenades," Wash added.

Inara's brow creased in worry. "I hope he brought all the others too."

"Hush," Zoë snapped. "If we want to be any use to them, we need to find a path to get over there."

"Should we fight?" the Companion asked in a fierce whisper. Zoë could only look pointedly at the weapon the woman held in her clenched right fist: a knife with a handle studded with garnets and polished bits of tiger's eye. The blade may have been large, but it was dull, and the arm wielding it was not trained for this kind of battle.

Inara got the message from Zoë's expression; she wilted and lowered her knife.

"Just let me think," Zoë whispered sharply. She turned and sat heavily, her back against the boulder as she considered her options.

The low but sharp cliff in their path left only three directions for escape, and none seemed hopeful. To the east was the burning town, to the west were the stray bullets and explosions of the battle for the cavern's entrance, and to the south hunting Reavers slipped through the trees, making a web that slowly drew tighter.

Zoë raised her eyes and saw a fourth option; up the cliff and a bit back toward the east, the tip of a familiar black-silver engine showed against the sooty sky. The four of them were cowering not far from the fueling platform where _Serenity_ rested. Not that it did them any good; the Firefly was useless as long as the Reaver ship and its grappling hook hovered nearby. Zoë slouched and pressed her back against the hard stone of the fallen boulder, but her jaw set with determination rather than despair. She just needed to think. In a hopeless situation like this, she had to consider everything at her disposal, and hope to find some overlooked advantage.

She patted her pockets and added up her personal armament: she carried a fair amount of ammo and explosives, though with only two hands to wield it, all the weapons in the world would only take her so far.

Her other assets were her troops. Wash was also well-armed, but looked pale and unsure of himself. A cold voice in Zoë's head told her that she couldn't know if he'd fall back into the paralysis that had taken him in the town. Nor could she count on Inara; the Companion was holding her composure, but the depth of her fear revealed itself in her quick breaths and jittery hand movements. If Wash was a barely trained child when it came to this kind of warfare, Inara was an infant. These two might both be brave, but inexperienced courage wouldn't be getting anyone out of this predicament.

Zoë's eyes settled on Malcolm. His eyes, the same eyes she'd seen take in bloody battles and hopeless despair that would freeze the stoniest heart, were now wild and unsettled.

"We fight, we die," he muttered to himself. "We don't fight, we die. Wǒmen shì gègè jiānghuì sǐdiào."

The sight of Mal wallowing in despair snapped something in Zoë. She didn't need a terrified boy, she needed a brain that could calculate strategy, even when facing an ugly and, apparently, inevitable death. She needed the Sergeant she'd fought beside and fought for, and needed him now.

She tucked her rifle under her arm and bent to crawl around Wash so she could reach Malcolm. Without hesitation she took her ex-Sergeant by his shirt front and pushed him back against the rock.

"I can't have this Reynolds!" she hissed. "I can't have this from you. Wherever the hell you're hiding, get your ass back on the line!"

He didn't reply, but closed his hands on her wrists and weakly tried to pull himself free.

She leaned forward to get in his face, but her voice was softer, almost pleading. "I can't have this useless gorramned boy right now, sir. I need you back. _They_ need you."

Malcolm's expression was full of fear and doubt as he followed her gaze, but he turned his head to take in Inara awkwardly holding her garish knife, then Wash staring at his wife and captain with mouth and eyes wide open, the gun in his hands, for the moment, forgotten.

"You know how to fight," Zoë told Malcolm. "You've faced these things before, and you won. It took us both working together and tore us to shreds, but we won. You remember that? You remember how we got off their ship?"

Malcolm put his hands to his head and bowed over, but Zoë bent to stay with him and watched his eyes. His pupils wobbled back and forth, as if searching. For a second, a cringe of pain distorted his face, but then his eyes lifted to hers and she saw something that she'd almost forgotten how much she craved: recognition. Real recognition.

"Reavers?" he asked. He looked unsure of himself, and his breath was coming heavy.

She nodded. "A full party." She looked toward the smoldering town, listened for the thinning gunfire by the caverns and the thud of heavy feet in the nearer trees. "We got slaughter on one side, sir, battle on the other, a search party behind, and this cliff at our faces. It ain't pretty."

He took two more breaths, then closed his mouth and clamped down his jaw. His face was a grimace, but in his eyes a glint of ice took hold.

"_Serenity_?" he asked.

"Up there." She pointed up the low cliff, and his gaze followed her. "That's your ship, sir, right up there."

He cut his eyes at her. "I know my gorramned ship, Zoë," he said with rather unfair sharpness. "We have to get to her."

"No—not good!" Wash said, his shifting eyes eagerly taking in the change that Zoë had wrought in the captain. "That Reaver ship has grappling hooks—"

"Shh!" Inara warned. The Companion was also listening closely to the exchange, but showed presence of mind by putting herself in a lookout spot, sitting slightly to the side of the small boulder so she could study the woods. "They're getting closer!" she whispered almost silently.

Wash lowered his voice. "The Reaver ship has grappling hooks. Lots of them. They've taken down everything that's tried to lift off."

"The rest of the crew?" Mal asked.

Zoë replied, "They're out of our reach, sir, but might have a better chance for safety then we do at the moment."

Mal sat back, thoughtful. Suddenly, he showed little emotion, nothing but a blush rising in his cheeks. In the old days, when Zoë'd known the inside of this man's head nearly as well as she knew her own, she'd have guessed the color in his face to be the heady adrenaline rush of a soldier getting ready to pull some fool-hardy maneuver. She held her breath, hoping that he'd do exactly that.

After a moment, Mal focused on the purple-bladed knife in his right hand. He rubbed his thumb against the blade, checking its edge, then sneered in disgust and tucked it the back of his belt. He patted his hip, only to find his holster missing.

"Gun?" he demanded.

Zoe nodded to Wash, and the pilot immediately handed over his rifle. "Captain," the pilot said.

If Mal noticed the depth of meaning Wash put into the word, he didn't show it. His expert hands checked the piece over, breaking it down like it was a old friend he needed a re-introduction to. This was the man who'd stormed an Alliance stronghold against direct orders. This hard face had held a group of the defeated and dying together in the midst of hell. This was the soldier Zoë needed.

"What have we got?" Mal asked suddenly.

"Me and Wash, and Inara there…"

Mal's eyes flicked at the Companion, but quickly returned to Zoë. "No, what have we got?"

Zoë understood him. "Inara ain't holding nothing but another one of them awful knives, but I have my carbine and handgun, this here rifle, a spare six-shooter in my boot, and a good half dozen grenades. Wash has two pistols and another handful of grenades. But the biggest thing on our side is secrecy. If those creatures, or that ship hovering, find out we're here, we're done for."

"We just have to get to _Serenity_," Mal repeated.

"Maybe you didn't hear me—" Wash started.

"There is a problem with that, sir," Zoë interrupted, taking over the argument from her husband, who she didn't trust to handle it exactly right. "And it's not just those grapples, though Wash is right that those are a definite problem." Mal flashed her a look of annoyance, so she got to the point." The only way up to _Serenity_ is the stairs we came down, but they gotta be a good hundred meters away and the path is pretty damned exposed. We won't have cover on the way, and those hunters in the woods will surely see us."

Mal angled the gun in his hands so he could slide the ammo clip home. He flipped the safety off, then rose to his knees to take another look around. In his old _this-is-an-order_ voice that allowed no argument, he said, "We're going to _Serenity_. We'll deal with the grapplin' hook when we get there."

Inara, who seemed too befuddled by Mal's sudden transformation to even speak, accepted his plan with a nod, but Wash paled.

"Shàngdì xī zìjǐ hún," the pilot said softly.

"Our souls ain't going no where," Mal replied quickly. "The hunting party's the only problem we got to worry about for the moment, and that looks to be only a half dozen, tops. We'll get by."

"How's that, sir?" Zoë asked.

Mal turned his calculating eyes on her. "You're gonna be our ticket out, Zoë. Hand over everything but that rifle in your hands." She immediately complied as he went on explaining. "You're gonna slip back to that creek and slide down it a ways and get behind those hunters. Keep the rifle dry on the way. The sound and smell of the water ought to hide you well enough for a short time, at least. You got two minutes before the three of us break. They'll be on us, but I doubt they'll try to kill us out right. They're hungry. You'll have a chance to hit them from behind while they're coming at us."

"Wait, wait, wait," Wash broke in. "Are you sending my wife off, alone? And are you really expecting the rest of us to be _bait_ in this scenario?"

Mal stared at the pilot for a long, thoughtful second. "Are you sayin' Zoë needs hand-holding? Or are you saying that you'd be bad bait? Would you drive the Reavers off? " He turned to Zoë. "Is it a smell thing? Haven't you taught him to bathe?"

Wash's mouth dropped open, but Zoë distracted her husband by pushing her last two grenades at him. Her smaller guns had already gone into Inara's eager hands. "My man smells just fine." She leaned over and pecked Wash on the cheek. "Be good bait," she said, then, without allowing him a chance to reply, she turned and jogged in a crouch toward the creek.

Despite the warm air, Zoë's breath left her body as soon as she slid into the clear, icy water. She went feet first, on her back, only her hands and face out so she could keep her gun dry and see her way. The burbling water was just deep enough to hide her body, though she had to wind back and forth to stay with the main current.

Mal must have given her more than two minutes; it felt like at least ten, but her sense of time might have been stretched by the frigid water and the unbidden doubt that played in her mind. She'd just left her husband with a paid socialite and a very recently recovered madman. If he was truly recovered. She might have taken a little more time to think about it before following orders, but it was too late to reconsider now.

She knew the trap was sprung when a handful of shadows suddenly darted through the woods on her left, running away from the creek toward the cliff that was now a good forty paces distant. She gave them a slow and chattering count of five to get a lead, then pushed herself to standing on half-numb legs and somehow stumbled out of the icy water. Clumsily, she hopped over a downed log and into the woods.

A high-pitched cry came from just ahead of her, then Mal, yelling in a booming voice. "Go now! Along the cliff! Go!" Zoë knew he wasn't ordering the other two as much as drawing in the Reavers and letting her know exactly where he was. His direction wasn't needed; she already saw the trio of her crewmates against the red-gold wall of stone. They tried to hurry across a long open stretch below the bluff, but were slowed by the slipperiness of smooth rocks in the old stream bed. They were very visible, and they were very vulnerable.

The trap was set and the bait was out, dangling in the open.

Zoë hunched down quietly, clenching her teeth to silence their chattering as she searched the forest for the enemy. She immediately saw a pair of Reavers moving through the trees to her right. Their intent was clear; they were out to head off the trio of _Serenity_'s crew, to stop them from reaching the stairs leading up to the fueling platform.

Mal, Inara and Wash also saw the slow-moving attack. They pulled to a stop, though they had no cover. Mal held a hand out to Wash and Inara, making them hold their fire.

"But they're coming at us!" Wash said, his voice loud enough for Zoë to hear. He didn't turn to look toward the woods where Zoë crouched, but raised his voice to pass a message: "I sure hope my wife is ready to be helpful here!"

Zoë had to reply in a nearly silent whisper. "I am, baby. Be patient." She understood Mal's hesitance; she didn't trust this. The attack was moving too slow. They were holding back purposefully, waiting for something. Zoë searched the woods again, and motion caught her eye to her left.

The monsters were setting their own trap. Three more bulky shadows circled around behind Mal's group, cutting off escape.

"Now would be good!" Wash added.

"Nope," Zoë whispered quietly. "Not… yet. There's might be more out here… there!"

A wet, crunching noise had caught her ears; she found another Reaver keeping to the trees, off to her right a score of paces. It held a large and gory bone to its mouth, picking the thing clean as it watched the two-fronted attack advancing on Mal, Inara, and Wash.

Wash's impatience was spreading. "Mal! We need to do something!" Inara called out, her voice a small step above normal in pitch.

The three Reavers on the group's tail was about to come into the open behind them, and then the attack would begin for real. Zoë decided to worry about the lone diner later. She jumped to her feet and opened fire on the pair coming in from the front, as they were the nearer danger. Mal, Wash, and Inara joined in, and the two attackers were cut down before they could do any harm.

Zoë immediately shifted her fire to the attack from the rear. Mal saw where her bullets were going and caught on, shifting to set up his own defense, but Zoë didn't see how it played out. A small noise behind her reminded her of the stray Reaver in the woods.

The thing must have sprinted toward her as soon as it heard her firing, because she turned to find it just leaving the ground in a long final leap at her. She immediately tumbled forward, rolling once before landing on her back and firing upwards as it flew over her. She hit it, more than once, but didn't kill it. It snarled in pain when it landed, tumbled on a leg shattered by her bullets, then somehow sprung toward her again, loping hideously on its arms and one good leg. She clambered backward; her ammo was spent. Her hand slapped the wet and empty holster at her hip before recalling the necessities of her trip through the water: the empty rifle in her hands was the only gun she had.

The Reaver got a claw on her ankle, then another in her opposite calf, and its jaws gnashed as it pulled its putrid, bleeding body onto her struggling legs. It got a tight hold and its head reared back, maw stretched open wide to reveal sharp, pointed teeth, as if it wanted to show her exactly what it'd be using to tear the flesh off her thighs. For one long second Zoë stared into the rabid insanity of its eyes, then she finally got her knife free of her waistband. She buried her blade in the roof of the thing's wide open mouth.

"I am not your gorramned lunch!" she told the Reaver as she tried to kick its twitching body off of her. To her horror, its jaw closed on the edge of her hand. Its sharp teeth dug into her knuckles, making her cry out in pain. Like a dog that won't give up its fight, even after a death blow, the thing had a grip on her.

And it wasn't a good time to be caught. More heavy feet were approaching through the woods behind her.

"Mal!" she called out.

"Stay down!"

Zoë did as the captain ordered, rolling onto her side and curling around the hideous mouth trapping her knife and hand. Mal knelt three paces away, shooting toward the pines on the other side of the stream. Zoë twisted and lifted her head just in time to make out another stray Reaver. It didn't attack, but crashed through the underbrush and disappeared.

"Going to fetch his friends?" Zoë asked when Mal gave up firing.

"Most like."

"Help me with this?"

Mal saw her predicament. Fortunately, the last bit of life was draining from the Reaver she'd knifed, and its muscles began to loosen. She was able to pry its jaw open enough to slip her torn fingers free, then Mal kicked the half-rotten body away from her.

"You all right?" he asked.

She pushed herself to her feet. The slight breeze was chill on her wet skin, but she forgot about it, and her other ailments, when she caught a good look at the captain. "I'm just fine," she said. The sting of claw marks on her legs and the bite on her hand faded when she took in the broad smear of thick red on Mal's face, shirt, and coat.

"What the hell happened to you?" she demanded.

"Nothing," he said dismissively, but his eyes held a shadow and he seemed to shudder just a bit. "The blood ain't mine, most of it."

"Wash? Inara?"

"They're fine. Had to gut one of those things is all. Come on."

He turned back to the cliff, but Zoë stopped to reach down. With a sharp jerk, she pulled her knife out of the dead Reaver's slack mouth.

The rumble of the attacking ship's engines had almost become background noise, but the sound suddenly rose. The invading ship, still sitting over the town, was powering up and reorienting itself. It pointed its nose straight at them.

Zoë sprinted toward the others and caught up with them at the foot of the fueling platform's stairs. The spray of blood that had caught Mal full on had misted Wash's shoulder, and Inara's blouse and skirt were heavily stained.

Wash had a bit of a shake in his limbs. "Being bait was fun and all," he said breathlessly, "but I'd prefer a different job next time."

"You're okay?" Zoë asked.

"Hush!" Mal ordered.

Wash nodded his head in response to Zoë's question as the four of them ducked beneath the thick boughs of an evergreen. The Reaver ship moved overhead, blocking the dappled light of the sun. Zoë snatched her carbine out of Inara's hands, then reached into Wash's pockets for ammo and got busy reloading both the carbine and her rifle.

To all of their relief, the ship moved on, heading for the caves.

"There's hardly any gunfire," Inara whispered.

Zoë realized that the Companion was right. "Jayne must not have much fight left," she agreed. "But there's nothing we can do about it."

"Not from here," Mal said. "Come on!"

The ship's falling exhaust, mixed with smoke blowing off the fires in the town, was oily and harsh on the throat, but it provided cover while the four of them raced up the stairs. Zoë went last, lagging a bit behind to defend against attack from below. Just as she stepped onto the fueling platform she heard Wash's raised voice: "They're up here!"

Zoë looked toward the ship and saw a few hulking figures approach. Gunfire rang out and the shadows fell; she caught up to the other three to find them lowering their weapons.

"They came out of the ship," Mal said. He was down on one knee, his aim still on the darkness of the cargo bay. "There might be more on board."

Suddenly, the pavement of the platform shook beneath their feet. Zoë turned back; the air behind her was clear enough to allow a view across the valley. Right over the cave's entrance, where the Reaver ship now hovered, a thick cloud of tan and gray dust billowed into the air.

"What was that?" Wash asked. "A bomb? Now they're dropping bombs?"

Zoë shook her head. "I don't think so. Not enough fire, and the smoke ain't the right color to be a surface blast."

The Reaver ship tilted away from the explosion, then wobbled in the sky and limped slowly back along the valley toward the town.

Zoë understood. "The folks in the caves aren't part of this fight any more," she said. "They've sealed themselves in. That ship is looking for new prey."

"Let's not be it," Mal said. He rose to his feet and ran ahead; the others followed.

A breeze cleared the air as they ran under the ship and up the cargo bay ramp, but just as they got inside Zoë heard heavy feet and the grunts of low voices on the stairs behind her. She stopped at the base of the ramp to kneel and protect their flank, but Mal barked orders at her:

"Zoë, take Wash up top!"

"Got incoming, sir!"

"I'll see to them. You make sure my pilot reaches gets to the bridge in one piece. Bay's clear, but I don't know what's waiting inside!"

Zoë saw the sense of it. If they had any hope now, it lay in getting this ship off the ground and past those grapples. And that wouldn't happen if their pilot got eaten by whatever critters had wondered in the open doors while the crew was out. She left the defending to Mal and ran into the bay, hitting the stairs a flight behind Wash. As she climbed, Mal went on with the orders below her.

"Inara! Weapons locker. Ammo, and more grenades!"

Zoë glanced down from the catwalk; the Companion obeyed as quickly as any private could have, though she froze at the weapons locker and stared into it, eyes wide with confusion.

"Good luck," Zoë mumbled, and she leapt up the last set of stairs just two steps behind her husband.

.*. .*. .*.

Inara stood with one hand on the open metal door of the locker. Inside, a dense jumble of boxes were squeezed onto the shelves. There seemed to be at least a score of options.

"Um, Mal?" she said tentatively.

He didn't hear her over the blasts gunfire and grenades just outside the cargo bay doors.

"Mal!"

He didn't glance back. He was on his belly at the side of the ramp, holding out against a small but determined attack, but he managed to reply: "Green box—middle shelf!"

"Right."

"Also the blue box. Lots of those!"

"But there's two different kinds of blue boxes!"

"The ones with big bullets. You know—BIG bullets!"

She saw what he meant and grabbed as many of the blue boxes as she could pile on her bent left arm.

"Next locker over," Mal added. "Grenades!"

Inara somehow managed to scoop up her skirt and drop the ammo into the fabric. Every grenade in the second locker joined the boxes, then she paused another half second to grab a large lever action shotgun from a third locker.

She dropped the pile of ammo onto the deck next to Mal and dove to her stomach beside him. He immediately rolled away, rising to sit against the cover of the hull, and started reloading.

"Now's our chance to see how a Companion handles grenades," he said without lifting his eyes from his work. "Just pull the pin and throw—but get some distance on it."

She did exactly that, and laid flat while a surge of hot air from the blast blew over her head.

"See anything out there?" Mal asked.

"No. Wait—there!" She grabbed the shotgun she'd brought from the locker. The recoil made her arms shake and she was certain she missed, but the flitting shadow moved out of view.

"Keep on," Mal said. "We just got to keep them away from the doors until Wash lifts off."

"Why don't you close the gorramned door?" she demanded with more than a little irritation.

He furrowed his forehead at her. "It's complicated." He finished reloading and settled on his stomach again, loaded guns lined up beside him. His frown turned into a wicked grin. "Besides, why not leave it open? I'd say we've got the upper hand here."

.*. .*. .*.

Zoë caught Wash's left shoulder as he rounded the corner at the top of the stairs. A shared nod set the plan, and they entered the main corridor with Wash aiming fore, Zoë aft. She had the work to be done: a single Reaver was pulling apart the galley. She brought it to a quick but messy end, then followed after Wash.

Once in the bridge, she slid the door shut and locked it behind her.

"Get her going!" Zoë ordered unnecessarily. Wash was already in his chair, flipping switches. She passed under the muddled sunlight of the windows to make sure the front of the bridge was clear of invaders, then came back up and stared out. She couldn't see straight down to the platform below, but had a lovely bird's eye view of the valley. The Reaver ship was still wandering over the treetops like a shepherd without a flock.

"Warm her up careful," Zoë said. "As soon as they see us trying to lift off, they'll be on us."

"I got it," Wash said. "Get back down there and tell Mal to disconnect the fuel line. It's still running. One spark in a bad place when we lift off and we're in trouble!"

She turned and caught his eye. "You all right here?"

"Just seal the door on the way out," he said, his hands still busy on the console. "As long as I'm alone in here, I'll get us off the ground. I am alone, right?"

Zoë did one more quick sweep, checked that the entry below was locked, then sealed the door behind her and left Wash on his own.

.*. .*. .*.

"Did we get them all?" Inara asked.

"I wouldn't bet on it," Mal said. He took another break to reload.

Inara kept her cover fire going though she didn't see anything to fire at. The moment's respite was more than welcome; her ears were ringing from the blast of guns and her mind was full of the blood and screams of the Reavers she'd managed to kill in the chaos of the past half-minute. Their rage was just as horrifying as the ugly way they died, fighting on, even tearing at each other while they took their last breaths.

"Stay steady," Mal said. "You've done fine."

"Fine? You call this fine? This is crazy!"

"Fighting ain't ever been sane. You get used to it."

_Or lose your sanity trying,_ Inara thought, which made her recall other details of the current situation. She lowered her gun and looked at Mal. Now that death didn't seem so immediately eminent, she had a moment to fully appreciate what Zoë had done. The change in Mal had happened suddenly, unexpectedly, but it was real. His tense jaw and blood-spattered face held none of the light openness of recent days. The boy Malcolm was gone.

"Mal?" Inara ventured. "Is it really you?"

He cast a quick glance at her, but didn't reply. A shadow fell over his features, like the heavy weight of dark thoughts.

Perhaps it wasn't the time to push him, but she had to know. "Are you all right, Mal? Do you remember…"

Heavy boots rang out on in the bay behind them, making both Mal and Inara startle and raise their guns. It was Zoë. Inara sat back and exhaled in relief, but Mal just went on reloading.

"Wash is gettin' her ready, sir," Zoë reported as she raced down the steps. "I got one Reaver in the galley and found another just now in the engine room. Don't see any others on board."

"Good," he replied. "Take the guard here. Don't believe the quiet—they're out there."

"Why don't you close the hatch, sir?" Zoë asked as she crouched next to Inara.

"I like to see what's happening," Mal replied shortly. "Why ain't we in the air?" Without waiting for an answer, he stood and reached around the corner of the doorway to punch the comm. "Wash, why the hell ain't we in the air?"

Wash immediately replied, though he shouted into the comm to be heard over a beeping alarm. _Fuel tank isn't secured. The line's still up and running!_

"Override the damned alarm and take off! Do it now!"

Wash didn't reply, but the grating beneath their feet rumbled as the engines powered up.

"Sir!" Zoë called out. A new wave of Reavers was climbing onto the platform outside. Apparently, the word was out, because it was a large group of hunters and the Reaver ship was coming in behind them. The ship stopped a bit back from the platform, as if it was daring the Firefly to take off.

_Uh, Captain?_ Wash asked over the comm.

"Get us in the air now or I'll find a new pilot!" Mal barked into the comm. "Just _move_!"

Wild gusts of foul-smelling air blew into the cargo bay through the wide open door as the engines fired fully. The Firefly shifted, finally taking to the air, and the pavement receded. Mal recklessly stepped onto the down-tilting ramp, then stumbled sideways and caught hold of a vertical strut that held the ramp open, saving himself from a fall that would have made him a snack for the hungry creatures gathering on the platform below.

"Mal!" Inara called out.

"Not now!" he replied. Both he and Zoë fired at a figure that had managed to grab the ramp and ride into the sky with them, and it plunged back to the platform. The Reavers below scampered out of the way when it hit, but quickly swarmed around it again, tearing at it. Others looked up at their fleeing prey and howled, but didn't open fire. They knew their mother ship was nearby, and counted on having the Firefly on the ground again before long.

"Tell Wash to back away to the north," Mal yelled at Inara. "But stay on this heading. And tell him to hold the wheel tight!"

Inara punched the comm and relayed the command word for word, then looked out to see the Reaver ship following closely. Reavers now filled the platform below, running over the still-running fuel line that had been pulled free when they lifted off, and now spilled its contents over the pavement.

Mal leaned out into the smoky air, pulled the pin from a grenade, and dropped it.

The fueling station went up with a bright enough blaze to blind Inara, and a blast of heat and pressure flung her back into the cargo bay. She rolled across the grating as the ship tilted, blown through the sky by the blast.

.*. .*. .*.

"Gǒu shǐ tù zǎi zi kuài kuà dào dì yù!"

Wash clung to the controls as he tried to work out what had just happened. He'd barely taken in a bright flash of light from below before a shock wave nearly pulled the stick from his hands. He had one glimpse of the valley that was suddenly much further from him than it should have been: the fueling platform was gone. Under a mushrooming cloud of thick black smoke was a large, glowing red hole in the hillside, a blaze that eclipsed the fires of the burning town. A bit further up the valley, a thin cloud of dust settled on a pile of fresh rubble: the ruins of the cave entrance.

Wash realized what his suddenly distant vantage point must mean. The blast had thrown the Firefly away from the valley, and the ship was still rushing backwards at an alarming pace. He checked the scanner just in time to realize his danger—_Serenity_ was being pushed straight toward the jagged peak of one of the larger foothills.

"Hold on!" He yelled to no one in particular, and he powered the Firefly forward and up with everything she had. He didn't breathe until he saw craggy fingers of grey stone pass below him, seeming so close that they might have scratched the ship's belly. He kept the engines on full while he managed to rotate to face the way the ship was heading. He was clear of the mountain peaks but wasn't so sure about the Reaver ship. He kept the throttle on full, one eye on the sky, one on the scanner, until he could see the curve of the world.

He switched on the comm. "Zoë? You there?" He waited with his heart in his throat until his wife replied in a breathless voice.

_Are they following?_

"No. No they're not. The blast must have knocked them away from us."

.*. .*. .*.

Zoë exhaled and leaned her forehead against the comm panel, enjoying the blessed calm of the cargo bay.

_We still got everyone?_ Wash asked.

Zoë sighed in relief. "We all made it. Somehow."

She would never figure out how she and Mal had managed to hold on during that blast, but they had. During the wild ride just after, she'd reached out and caught the captain's coattails and pulled him away from the brink. They'd clung to the edges of the door at the top of the ramp while the thinning but still wild air tried to pry them free and throw them out into the void. Then, thankfully, the door had closed. Inara had found her way to the controls.

_Damn him,_ Wash said, bringing Zoë back to the present. _Mal did that, didn't he? He planned it. He could have told me!_

Zoë smiled and pressed her hand gently to the comm, as if it was a physical connection to her husband. "Well, he did tell you to hold the wheel."

_Tell him thanks a lot_, Wash said sarcastically. The comm was quiet a second, then Wash added in a more somber tone, _No really. Tell him I appreciate it._

"I will."

The adrenaline of the past half hour flowed in her veins still, leaving her weak and shaky. She'd need time to consider everything she'd said and done, and to consider the things that had almost gone horribly wrong. And she'd need even more time to figure out what to do about the crew members she'd left behind.

Her senses returned at that thought. "Still no one following?" she asked.

_Local sky is empty, but we've got more than one ship in near orbit._

"Alliance?"

_Can't tell. There's a few big ones._

Zoë swallowed hard, but had to make the tough call. Those in the caves below were out of her reach. "Can you get around the traffic?"

Wash managed to scoff through the comm. _Can I get around the traffic? Hey, it's me. We'll be in the Black in a minute, going full tilt toward anywhere that isn't here. _

"Good."

_And Zoë? We'll come back for them. Right?_

She nodded. "Of course." Somehow.

She turned back toward the cargo bay. Mal was sitting against the wall just inside, and Inara knelt next to him. The Companion had a hand on his shoulder, but she was looking at Zoë. Her eyes were large and frightened.

Zoë realized that the captain wasn't moving.

"What?" she demanded as she rushed over. "What's wrong?"

Inara turned back to Mal. "I don't know." Her hands moved lightly over his arms and torso, then down his legs, patting him with the quick, impersonal manner of a medic. "I can't find anything. This blood on his clothes—it's not his. He was fine before. I don't know what's wrong!"

Zoë crouched at Mal's side and took his wrist to check his pulse.

"I don't think he's injured, Zoë," Inara said, suddenly stopping to look at the captain's slack face. "I think he's just… gone."

Zoë felt Mal's strong heartbeat, saw his regular, deep breaths, but she looked into his empty eyes and understood. The captain was no longer home.

.*. .*. .*.

Translations

dì yù: hell

wǒmen shì gègè jiānghuì sǐdiào: We're all gonna die.

Shàngdì xī zìjǐ hún: God rest our souls.

Gǒu shǐ tù zǎi zi kuài kuà dào dì yù!: dog-shit-son-of-a-rabbit-quick-ride-to-hell!


	22. Chapter 22

**Back Stories III: Chapter 21  
**By mal4prez

_

* * *

The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money._

* * *

Zoë straightened stiffly, stepped back from the dining room table, and propped her right hand on her hip. Her fingers touched leather and cold steel; she was still armed, and meant to remain that way for the foreseeable future. She hadn't even let her gun leave her reach while Wash bandaged her injuries, which were bloody but would heal. The cuts stung, especially the bite wound in her right palm, but she hadn't let her husband give her any numbing medication. She needed her senses sharp.

Despite the quiet hour that had passed since they escaped the Reaver attack on Oeneus, the few who remained of _Serenity_'s crew felt no where near safe and secure in their home. They couldn't be sure that no Reavers lurked in the dark crevices of the Firefly, even following a thorough search of the ship and a full venting to the Black of the cargo bay, lower deck, and engine room.

Few things irked Zoë more than fearing shadows while having nothing to actually strike out against. She itched to let those creatures know exactly what she thought of them and the plans they harbored for her and hers. It would almost be a relief to find one of the monsters still lurking about so she could practice some free self-expression, but the violence of her inner frustrations had to settle on the only target she had at the moment: herself.

She shook her head as she stared down at the silent man sitting at the dining room table. "No, it's clear enough," she said to the two people awaiting her opinion. "I pushed him too hard."

Inara's response was adamant. "Zoë, if you hadn't pushed him, we'd all be dead."

"Might be," Zoë admitted, "but don't get all comforting with me. I ain't taking it back, just saying it's a fact. I pushed him, and I pushed him too far. He broke."

"Shattered to bits," Wash added.

No one argued with the obvious. Mal's eyes were empty. The captain sat in his accustomed seat at the head of the table, but he had none of his usual ownership of the spot. Inara and Wash sat at his right and left, both studying him closely, but Mal only sat in a blank slouch. Inara leaned toward him and took his limp hand in hers, but she didn't speak. They'd all tried every plea they could think of already; the captain's ears seemed to be taking in as little as his eyes.

"So what do we do now?" Wash asked. He glanced up through the windows above the dining room table at the unfamiliar configuration of stars outside. They hadn't been in their usual regions of space for some time now.

"Where are we headed?" Zoë asked.

Wash tilted his head thoughtfully, then shrugged. "I guess we could pass by Prometheus in a few days, if I divert a bit. Maybe. I'd have to check." Zoë frowned at him, and he burst out, "Hey, I got us out of there as fast as I could. I didn't have much chance for thinking ahead, what with dodging Reavers and mountains and orbital Alliance ships and all."

Zoë nodded, acknowledging the difficulty he'd faced on Oeneus. "Prometheus. We'll make do."

"And when we reach there?" Inara asked. "What then?"

"We'll have a nice dinner, take in the sights, shop for shoes," Zoë snapped. "What do you think?"

Inara's reply was patient and gentle. "I only meant—"

"I don't know what we'll do, all right? I got no idea. We have to go back to Oeneus eventually is all I know right now. We can't leave the rest of them. But we can't go back until we can get in and out without arrests or massacres or gods know what else."

"I'll stay on the line, listen for news," Wash suggested. "I might find out how the clean up from the Reaver attack is going, maybe get word when the survivors are rescued from the caves."

Zoë nodded, but Wash didn't leave. He stayed in his seat, his eyes on his folded hands for a few seconds before they flicked toward the head of the table. The most important bit of business hadn't yet been settled.

"And what about Mal?" Inara asked, forcing the issue.

Zoë turned her back to the table. She had an urge to walk right out the hatch so she wouldn't have to look at the captain's blank face again, but she made herself turn into the alcove and fall into one of the large chairs. She slumped there, her head back and eyes on the ceiling. Despite her proud words about not taking anything back, she did wonder if she could have handled things differently. She did wish, very badly, that she could start all this over again.

"Zoë?"

Inara had risen from the table and come toward into the alcove. The Companion stood with her head bowed and hands clasped in front of her, as if she understood and respected the depth of Zoë's remorse. "I'll see to him," Inara told the floor.

The gentleness of Inara's words, her subtle air of generosity, sent a wave of bitterness through Zoë. She couldn't stand the idea that Inara would sooth the damage that she herself had caused.

"Because you have such a good history with Mal?" Zoë asked pointedly.

Inara only smiled, a small, forlorn expression. "It's what I do. I care for people."

"It's what you used to do, and you did it so well you got the captain started on this thing."

Wash spoke up from the table. "Honey, that's not fair. Inara isn't to blame. Those butchers on Oeneus did this to him."

Though she knew in her gut that her husband was right, Zoe was in no mood to be logical, nor forgiving. She ignored him and dug a little deeper into the Companion. "Mal got sick after you used him and left him behind. Maybe I had the right idea when you showed up on New Melbourne. Maybe I ought to stick with what I said back then, and keep you far away from him."

Inara raised her eyes, then took a step forward and knelt beside Zoë. If the woman felt any sting from the accusations thrown her way, she didn't show it. "You can trust me about this. Truly, it's what I do—I take care of people. Mal will be safe with me."

Such determined patience and goodwill, such a direct and earnest gaze, made Zoë's hostility collapse. She dropped her eyes.

Inara read permission in the action; she returned to Mal. The captain stood easily in response to a pull at his elbow, then he followed Inara out the fore hatch. The Companion left the captain standing in the hall while she climbed down into his cabin, then returned quickly to guide him toward the stairs, heading for the shuttle that had once been her home.

"Uh, Zoe?" Wash said hesitantly into the empty quiet that followed.

Zoë lifted her head. "What?"

"We got a good fill-up back there, but taking off with the tanks open cost us. I'm not saying we're out, but we shouldn't burn too hard."

She sighed. "Any more good news to add?"

Wash rose from the dining room table. "Yes, and I mean _for real_ good news. I'm absolutely one hundred percent sure the others made it to those caves, and I'm even more sure that Jayne and Book will take care of the Tams. They'll hold out as long as they need to."

He settled next to her and Zoë leaned into his outstretched arm. "And the agent?" she asked. "What do you suppose happened to that woman we had on board?"

Wash blinked. "I'd forgotten about her."

"Not everybody did. I found her cut bonds in the dorm room. They freed her and took her along."

"Let's hope she returns the gesture of good will."

"Yeah, well, there's not much we can do about it if she doesn't." Zoë shook her head. "Shèng mǔ niú tiān a! Reavers and Alliance. I don't know how we'll manage to get back there anytime soon. Someone's going to get to those caves before us, and it won't work out so well for River and Simon."

Wash tightened his hold on her shoulders. "Hey! Don't lose faith in Jayne. OK, lose faith in Jayne, but Book's there too. He'll take care of everyone."

"He better."

Wash set his cheek against hers and wrapped both arms around her, as if she was a little girl who'd spilled milk. "You did the best you could, honey."

"Wasn't good enough," she replied. "I lost him."

.*. .*. .*.

Inara led Mal through the shuttle's hatch, then paused to set down a bag holding the basic supplies she'd gathered from Mal's cabin. She powered on the lights, and what she saw made her freeze in amazement.

She hadn't set foot in the shuttle since she'd left to catch the ferry on New Melbourne, and in that handful of days a transformation had taken place. The shuttle wasn't as elegant as it'd been when her own ornaments adorned it, but neither was it the dark empty she'd been confined to since her return to _Serenity_.

For inventiveness and creativity, the new décor was a perfect ten. The metal walls were softened by some kind of dark fabric: tarps, Inara guessed, with random patterns that at first looked whimsically artistic in the low light. On closer examination (she saw as she crossed the room), the patterns proved to be faded stains of grease and engine fuel in scattered drops and pools and partial handprints.

On low tables scattered about the shuttle, dim work lamps were carefully placed behind blocks of metal, aimed into corners to make the space look bigger but not too bright. Larger blocks were set against the walls to provide seating, and a few had been pushed together to recreate the couch that Inara had once used for her tea ceremony, though now the material that covered it was beige rather than red. In front of the "couch" was a low table constructed from four short, curving chunks of metal topped by a sheet of matte silver. A sculptural amalgamation of gears and rods provided an artistic centerpiece.

Since her return to _Serenity_, Inara had been sleeping on a mat on the deck, but a full bed had now appeared. Thick blankets hid the structure beneath, but Inara soon saw what it was made of: mattresses taken from the dorms, stacked atop a large flat panel supported by whatever materials Kaylee had pulled from the many storerooms she'd stocked religiously since the ship's deep space encounter with death–by-lack-of-spare-parts.

For Kaylee was surely the person who'd done this; only one member of the crew would care so much, and would know how to bring it all together in such a short time. Inara's vision blurred with tears. This shuttle's transformation touched her more than the most expensive and carefully planned of her quarters at the Companion House on Sihnon. She only hoped that she'd have a chance to express her gratitude to the young engineer who'd wrought the change.

Sadness returned as Inara recalled how far away Kaylee was at the moment. Then she turned back to the shuttle's entrance and felt a deeper grief: Mal was here with her, standing only a few meters away, but he was also far, far out of her reach.

That didn't mean she could do nothing for him. Inara returned to his side and took his hand. He read the directions from her touch easily and she led him to the makeshift sofa and sat him down. She stood before him for a long, silent moment, then reached out and laid her hand against his hair. Her touch was light, as if he was a child that she didn't want to frighten. He didn't respond. It was almost beyond her to understand this absence in him, after all the volatility she'd seen in his face during the two years that she'd known him. His features could convey such passion. They had just a few hours ago, when she'd walked with him in the clean sunshine of a small mountain town.

_I ain't never met anyone like you,_ he'd said, and his thumb had brushed her cheek. _To think of all a lady like you must have had, but here you are with this gang of ruffians, fightin' to survive in the heathen wilds of the `verse... _

He'd laughed after he'd said that, as if "heathen wilds" was an exaggeration rather than a vastly mild term for what was about to befall the quaint village. And then, during those last moments they'd had together, he'd asked her a question. It was one he'd asked once before, on the day they'd first met.

_Why'd you take this path? _

Inara dropped her hand from his face and took a deep breath. "I want to tell you a story," she said to the silent cabin, her voice soft. She dropped her eyes and focused on Mal's empty face.

"I probably shouldn't. It's not a happy tale. It might make you worse to hear unhappy things." She smiled to herself. "But then, one never knows with you, Malcolm Reynolds. Maybe such a tale will send into a jealous rage. Maybe it'll force you out of wherever it is you've gone. Maybe you'll start stomping around and calling me names."

She reached out again, less tentatively. Her fingers caught in his matted hair, making his head tip back slightly. She wiped a thumb over a dirty smear on his forehead, though she didn't want to think about the source of the mess she was touching.

"If you want to do that," she added softly, "if you want to call me names, I wouldn't mind."

His eyes didn't shift. He wasn't present enough to know what he saw or to fix his focus on any one object. Inara had to turn away. She couldn't heal what was broken in him, but had it in her power to give him one thing he obviously needed.

"It's a story about me," she continued as she began preparations. The shuttle's original head, a tiny closet, wasn't meant for the type of bathing a Registered Companion often required. Several improvements had been needed to make the head useful to those of her clients with a preference for certain comforts. Then as now, Kaylee had been the force behind the updates.

"It's also a tale about a client I once serviced. I had been out of the Academy for several years when I met him, and was well established on Sihnon. I was successful, as I had long known I would be."

Inara pulled open the hatch on a large storage bin and smiled at the metal bathing tub hanging inside; Kaylee had missed few details as far as returning the shuttle to its former state. Inara hadn't been able to use the tub often, given the limited supply of water on _Serenity_, but it had proven invaluable during planetary visits and on rare occasions when the ship's water tanks were well stocked.

"I had many clients," Inara want on, "some who engaged me on rare occasions, some who took long contracts when my calendar was free. Sometimes I stayed on Sihnon, other times I traveled to distant worlds. It was an enjoyable time."

She set the tub in the shuttle's main room and pulled the water supply hose from a panel in the bulkhead. Few of the crew had been on board lately, so the hot water was readily available. Inara watched steam rise from the deep tub as it began to fill.

"This particular client wasn't out of the ordinary. He was newly turned to politics, after a short but successful career in business. He'd won a position on the City Council, but being young and new to the public spotlight, he had need of the status that a regular contract with a Companion would bring. It wasn't a rare thing for a client to seek more than the obvious enrichment from his relationship with a Companion, and I was happy to help him. I found him passionate and genuine, and my time with him was pleasant.

"He'd been contracting with me regularly for over a year when something unusual happened."

She turned back to the far side of the shuttle to find Mal sitting exactly as she'd left him, staring into empty space with his hands lying limp in his lap. She returned to stand before him, but hesitated before reaching out to release the top button of his shirt. She suddenly felt that she was invading his privacy—not only by undressing him, but by seeing him like this. Mal must have felt helpless now and then, given the life he'd led, but she couldn't imagine that he'd ever let his helplessness show as it did now.

She'd just have to endeavor to be worthy of his trust, she decided. Gently, she slid her fingertips against the side of his neck and pushed the stained and stiffened fabric off his bare shoulders. As she removed his shirt, she continued her tale.

"Mal, even as provincial as you can be, you must know that birth control for Companions is . The statistical probability of an accident is… well, it doesn't happen. It's absolutely unheard of. But I managed to beat the odds."

His pants would be more of a challenge, she thought, but Mal stood readily when she pulled up on his arm.

"The medics were able to track the timing and determine the day and approximate time of conception. I knew the father, beyond a doubt. The young politician with the charming smile and easy laugh. He'd contracted with me over multiple days. It could be no one else."

She had to pause in her recital as she unfastened Mal's pants and pushed them down over his hips. The coincidence of her words and her actions were too ironic, the invasion of Mal's privacy too troubling, for her to continue speaking. But Mal complied with her gentle touches, leaning from side to side to step out his pants and underdrawers. Inara smiled to herself as she folded the garments and set them aside; like after he was once abandoned in a desert, Mal had no problem with being naked.

She took his hand and guided him toward the tub.

"The strangest thing was, I didn't terminate the pregnancy immediately." She had to shake her head at that—some women might place the strangeness differently. Some women would question her assumption that having a child would be an unmitigated disaster. Certainly, Mal would never understand. She had to explain, whether he could hear her or not.

"You see, nearly all my life, I only wanted to be a Companion. I worked very hard for it. I may have started with schemes for escape from a life I didn't like, but over years I formed an honorable goal, something I wanted to have, rather than something I wanted to get away from."

She checked the water. The tap was running cool, the store of hot water drained, but the tub was the perfect temperature of almost too hot. She tapped the back of Mal's knee and he lifted his leg to step in. She watched his face, looking for any reaction, but he remained completely blank. She placed a hand on his shoulder and he sank into the steaming tub. He didn't close his eyes as she scooped water over his head, so she tipped his chin up, then spread a healthy dollop of shampoo from her own toiletry bag through his hair.

"I know you don't think it possible," she continued as she massaged his scalp, "but I could spend months telling you about my training. It was that complicated. And it wasn't easy—not like textbook classes with answers that can be checked right or wrong. The subtleties of human behavior are unbelievably complex. Being able to read and understand a wide range of people, knowing myself well enough to be open to them in an infinite number of different situations… it took a great deal of time and effort to master.

"I entered the training house later than most, and maybe that's why I worked so hard. I didn't want to be behind the other Novices. I feared that my instructors would make me leave the House because of my background. It was such a beautiful dream. The frightened little girl in me was sure it would end, simply because I wanted it so badly."

She scooped up water and rinsed Mal's hair, being careful not to irritate his open eyes. When she finished, she tipped his head forward again and picked up a sponge to wipe his skin clean.

"After a few years, I began to stand out. The classes—languages and music and culture and politics—took many hours of study, and some didn't come naturally to me. But I was always good at interacting with instructors and classmates. I was a natural with people. I always had been.

"So I began to feel secure. I truly became Inara Serra, and left the poor, lonely child I'd once been behind. I even began to believe that I could someday be House Mistress. Me! Leader of the greatest House on Sihnon!"

She shook her head as she again felt the disbelief that had filled her once, long ago. The feeling had gradually faded until she nearly forgot that she'd ever doubted her place in the exotic world of the Guild. As the years passed, little Karida, the waif who'd spent half a year in foster care and loved it more than she ever had loved her own family, wasn't real. Kari was a book that Inara had read once, and only vague scenes were left to gather dust in the back of her mind.

"When I achieved full Companion status, I was quite sure of the life I had ahead of me. I would care for people, but people of my own choosing. I would have a positive effect on them, make them grow, make them feel better about themselves and be braver in their lives. And there would be sex: beautiful, lovely sex. The chance to be touched and moved, and for my body to be given to those who treasured the gift. And though the connections I would form with my clients wouldn't be the unique kind of bond shared by people who join for a lifetime, nor would I be weighed down by the burdens of a lifelong relationship. Nothing would grow stale. No dirty secrets need be known.

"And children… I never wanted children."

Inara heard her own voice turn hard with those last words. If Mal could hear her now, he'd think her heartless. But she didn't try to hide it, she let her bitterness come out. "I'd had enough of _those_ when I was growing up. The last thing I wanted was another round of diapers and bottles and screams to keep me awake all night."

She was lost for a time in the long ago years of her childhood, of being the oldest of a brood who took and took from her without any recognition of what their endless demands cost her. When her mind returned to the present, she found herself kneeling beside the bottom of the tub, holding Mal's considerable foot over the rim and running a cool sponge along his arch. She couldn't help but smile.

"Look, Mal—I'm washing your feet."

Her own amusement had to satisfy her, because he didn't stir.

She stood up; a light pull on Mal's arm brought him up as well. She scooped water in her hands and rinsed the soap suds off his body, then tugged gently on his calf to make him step out of the tub. The shuttle's soft lights shone on the water on Mal's naked skin, catching his many scars. Inara dried him slowly, and thought about the last night she'd had with him before she left _Serenity_ all those long weeks ago. That was the only time she'd been able to be free with his body, as a lover. The memory was tainted by the sorrow that had hung over her then, the pain of knowing that she couldn't stay with him, that she couldn't let herself love him.

"No, I didn't want children. I wanted to give my care to those who'd already grown to adulthood. Adults need nurturing as much as the young. Sometimes, even more."

She noticed gooseflesh on his shoulders, though he didn't shiver or move to warm himself. She smiled mischievously as she threw a large, soft towel over his shoulders. "Usually, the nurturing I provide is not limited to a cleaning. Usually I'm a little less nurse and a little more…" She'd been about to say _whore_, but she couldn't quite make herself do it. Her play at light-heartedness couldn't go that far.

She stretched up on her toes to dry Mal's hair. It would have been easier if he'd have stooped to help her reach.

"When a Companion tires of servicing clients, she can use her skills in other ways. Governments, corporations, and political organizations are always eager to employ retired Companions. I always pictured myself going into politics. I could bring about new social programs, improve the living conditions of the poor."

She threw aside the towel and led Mal out into the shuttle's small open space to dress him. "You see, I had plans. I'd found a way to enjoy my life on my own terms, to use my skills and earn some bit of luxury. I even achieved a minor level of celebrity."

It was tricky, getting Mal into his briefs and the soft cotton pants she'd brought from his cabin. He wouldn't take the hint to step into his pants. She had to sit him down on the edge of the bed and pull the clothing up his legs.

"I had my career planned. A baby was not part of it. I know what you'd be suggesting, Mal, if you could, but I didn't want surprises. I never saw myself as a mother. There was no room for a child in my life."

With a little maneuvering, she finally finished dressing him for sleep. She remained sitting beside him on the bed, took his hand in her own, and sighed. "But the million-to-one accident happened, and once that little thing was inside me…

"It was a girl, Mal. The doctors said so. Against my own will, I begin to picture her. I was fond of her father, and he was an impressive man. Attractive, bright, and athletic. Small framed, but tall with good coloring. Dark hair, hazel eyes. All our encounters showed him to be good natured and kind. Our child would have been interesting indeed.

"And so I began to see her, with me, in the future. I pictured her asking me questions, being precocious. Black curls and hazel eyes, maybe. I realized that I wanted to meet her. I very much wanted to meet this girl."

Inara dropped Mal's hand and smoothed her water-spattered skirt over her knees, then realized that the mess of the Reaver battle needed to be rinsed from her own skin. She returned to the tub, opened the drain tube, then filled a small bowl with fresh water and pulled off her dress.

"Of course, there were practical considerations," she went on as she bathed, "but they weren't insurmountable. There are ways I could have been a mother and continued my career with the Guild, though I wouldn't have had the same freedoms to accept long-term contracts or travel with clients. Certainly, I would have a more difficult time earning the title of House Mistress. But as I imagined my little girl, I realized that I didn't want my attention divided. I didn't want to be a mother who isn't there, or one who's too busy, too taken with her own concerns, to spare every minute a child might need. I wanted to be the mother that I didn't have.

"Once I realized my intentions, I met with the father, my client. He had a right to know, and to have a voice in the matter. He surprised me; he said that he loved me, and that nothing would make him happier than to be my husband for life, the father of my little girl."

She shook her head, remembering her surprise at his offer, as she set aside her towel and reached for the soft dress she'd brought from Sihnon for sleeping. "Honestly, I was taken aback. I'd always been fond of this man, as I am of all my clients, but I would never have called it love. I continued to meet with him, not as a client but as a friend. I tried to cool our relationship into something that could last, a partnership for the benefit of our daughter, so she could have a father to dote on her. And he would have doted on her. He was so gentle, so kind. I can't imagine…" Inara felt sudden tears in her eyes, but blinked them back and smiled, as if Mal might see her near loss of control.

She finished changing and threw the blankets of the bed aside. Mal needed barely a hint to make him settle onto his back, just a touch to his shoulder. He stretched out, staring blindly upwards. She crawled in beside him, enjoying the softness of the bed Kaylee had constructed, and pulled the blankets over them both. Then she took his hand again, holding it over her breastbone as she laid on her back and stared at the shadowed ceiling, her eyes nearly as blind as Mal's.

"After a few months, I found myself feeling differently. I don't know how it happened. This man worked his way into my heart, and my time with my other clients was less satisfying than it had been. I looked forward to seeing him, to talking to him. He made me feel very safe, and more important than even a House Mistress could be.

"We made love. Sex can be a different thing when you're in love. I had been taught as much, but I never really understood until it became _that_ with him. I realized that I loved him."

Inara turned toward Mal and snuggled beneath his arm, feeling an urge to comfort him.

"Please don't be hurt when I tell you about this, Mal. It was like that with you. I knew it would be. That's why I avoided it for so long. I knew it would be wonderful. And I knew it would be awful, because I would still have to find a way to leave you. I didn't want to be trapped by such a terrible, wonderful thing."

She let her head rest on his shoulder and reached out to stroke his cheek. His eyes were still open.

"I decided to marry him, to leave the only way of life I had ever wanted. At the time, it wasn't as big a change as it might seem. Really, I was only moving on to the next stage of my life several years earlier than I had planned.

"After all, he was a politician, and was quite successful, though still young and early in his career. There were murmurs that he might run for the Sihnon Senate, which is often a stepping stone for those in Parliament. I would have had a fascinating life, the wife of a high ranking politician. I might have run for office myself. Certainly, the opportunity would have been open if I chose to follow that path. I could have done things, important things that touched people's lives. I was frightened about my decision, but more than that, I was exhilarated. I would miss being a Companion, but there would so many new challenges awaiting me, so many new opportunities and experiences."

She was quiet for a spell, watching Mal's lids get heavy and finally fall closed. She continued to watch him, unwilling to let herself sleep. Sleep would only bring the morning, and she'd have to take this empty shell of a human back out into the rest of the world. She found herself resenting the idea that she'd have to share him.

But the dangers of the past few days were beginning to weigh on her, and she realized that she had no idea how many hours it'd been since she last slept. Too many, she began to suspect as a creeping heaviness descended on her.

"As I'm sure you can guess," she went on, her voice softer as sleep began to take her, "none of that happened. I lost it all, and that's why I came to _Serenity_. I needed a safe place. I needed to go home." She closed her eyes. "It was horrible, Mal. But now I wonder if it was fated, the terrible things that drove me to find you. Because I love you so much more than I ever loved him. If only I hadn't lost…" She dropped a hand to her abdomen, then sighed.

"Do you mind if I finish telling you about it later?" her words slow and heavy. "It makes me too sad. I'd prefer not to think about the rest of it right now."

She wrapped her arm around his chest and held him. For a moment her senses sharpened and tightly tuned to him, alert for any tiny twinge of muscles that might suggest he was returning her embrace. Her tears fell onto his chest when she felt nothing.

"Thank you for listening," she said softly.

.*. .*. .*.

Translations

Shèng mǔ niú tiān a: holy cow god in heaven


	23. Chapter 23

**Back****Stories**** III: ****Chapter****23  
**By mal4prez

* * *

_The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money._

* * *

A toothy grin lit a strong, square jaw under an even stronger, squarer haircut. "Morning, Ell!" the patient in the hospital bed called out in greeting.

"Aaron," Doctor Ellen Rowlee replied with a fond smile. "How are you feeling today?"

"Ready to get off my back, ma'am," he replied.

"My dear boy, I will be the judge of that."

As she glanced over his chart, Ellen had to remind herself that her patient, at twenty-six years of age, wasn't technically a _boy_. Fully grown and muscular, he must be imposing enough when he carried his anti-riot shield and baton against unruly mobs. But her seventy-year-old eyes tended to focus on the age of minds rather than bodies, and this bright-eyed soldier was limited in real life experience. She doubted that he'd ever bothered to ponder the political complexities of the remote world of Oeneus, beyond those he could handle with a club and some well-aimed blinder spray.

However, Ellen would never hold youth and inexperience against any person, and she couldn't deny that she'd developed a fondness for this patient, not unlike that a grandmother for a spoiled grandchild.

"Let's just have a look, shall we?" she said, setting the chart aside.

"If you insist," he said. "But it's just a bruise. Really, I hardly feel it."

Ellen didn't believe him; she saw how he winced in pain from the effort of sitting up in bed. She didn't reply, but frowned at him with a gentle sternness and began to remove the bandage binding his left arm to his torso. Aaron had been injured during the first round of riots at the gates of the Alliance base. Some kind of projectile—likely a rock launched from a high powered slingshot—had found a weak spot in his body armor. His shoulder, large with muscle to start with, was now swelled up grotesquely. A deep purple bruise darkened his underarm and was spreading to his bicep, chest, and back.

"You were lucky," she told him. "No bones broken, and the scans show no ligament or tendon damage. But this is a nasty contusion. You need at least a few more days for the swelling to subside before you can start therapy."

His face fell, the square jaw losing its shape. It wasn't hard for Ellen to guess the cause of his disappointment; in the few days she'd been treating Aaron, she'd seen clearly enough that he loved his job. He believed in enforcing the peace, and was bound up in the fraternity of his cause, the need to always "be there" for his "brothers."

"Aaron, you know that I can't send you back to your duties as you are." She gave his healthy arm a comforting pat, then began wrapping a new bandage around his injured arm, pulling it tight enough to keep him immobile. Ellen had raised two sons and one rambunctious daughter; she knew how young people were about following instructions. They didn't. This one would certainly try doing pushups next to his hospital bed if she didn't make it impossible for him.

"Don't misunderstand me, my boy," she told him as she worked, "visiting with you is one of the highlights of my day, charming, handsome young man that you are. But I mean to be sure that, once you leave here, I won't ever see you again."

He was unfazed by her flattery. "Don't misunderstand me, but I don't get paid for sitting on my backside. Even with such lovely company as yourself in such a nice place as this." He gave her another of his brilliant, toothy smiles, then glanced appreciatively about the room. It was a sunny, spacious suite, tastefully decorated in warm comforting tones.

Ellen understood his meaning: the brand new hospital was far more luxurious than the average Oeneus facility. It was part of the Alliance base, physically connected to the military buildings and intended to treat visitors from the Core rather than locals. At the moment, it was also far more quiet and peaceful than the city's civilian hospitals—a security barrier had been constructed around all the military buildings, constantly patrolled by Aaron's fellow Tán Hé. In these halls, the unrest in Oeneus's capitol city was nothing but a distant murmur.

"You should enjoy the time off while you can get it," Ellen told the young mercenary, then she sighed sadly. "I'm sure your services will still be needed, even a week or two from now. It hasn't gotten any quieter out there in the city, and isn't likely to."

Aaron looked away, his mood darkened by her words, and he suddenly seemed less boyish as his thick jaw clenched and squared up again. "I just don't get it. What's wrong with these people, making such a fuss? It's not like we came here aiming to go to war with them. The Alliance wants to see to their welfare, their security. Why can't they figure that out?"

"Some people want to look after their own good, I suppose," she said, smiling to soften her disagreement.

"What, our ways work for every one of the Core worlds, but aren't good enough for Oeneus?" He shook his head dismissively. "You ask me, I say these Oeneans need our help. They can't handle it out here on their own. They should be begging the Alliance to take over and civilize the place." He snorted, a _humph_ of disgust more than amusement. "With the racket they're making, rioting and all, a takeover's sure to happen sooner rather than later. I guess the locals just aren't bright enough to figure out what they're bringing on themselves by being so—Ow!"

Ellen had pulled the last layer of tape a bit too tight. "I'm sorry, Aaron," she said as she readjusted the bandage. His words had stung her, but, involuntary slip with the tape aside, she couldn't really be angry with him. The young man didn't know that she wasn't like him, wasn't a citizen of the Core earning hardship pay for bringing her services out to this distant world. She was a native of Oeneus, and she didn't see the balance of power quite the way an off-world mercenary would.

But she knew very well the futility of arguing with a young and passionate person. Besides, setting aside the coarseness of his delivery, the young man's assessment wasn't entirely wrong. He was seeing something of the heart of the matter, as she understood it.

As soon as she left his room, she fished her uTex from her pocket and headed for the doctor's lounge. She could use reassurance and kind words from another charmer, one closer to her own age and way of thinking, the man who'd talked her into working in this place for these people: her old friend Trevor Marone.

.*. .*. .*.

Chancellor Richard Westfield was well aware of his reputation as old-fashioned. He wouldn't have been surprised if a considerable portion of the Alliance government and military referred him as something like: _Chancellor__ Dick __Decrepit __Moth-eaten __Hoary __Old __Fossil __of __a __Relic __Westfield._

Such a judgment was never spoken in his presence, of course, but expressed clearly enough to anyone who could read body language. It'd been evident in the young soldiers who'd moved his goods into his diplomatic vessel before it left Londinium, headed out to his current location in the furthest wilds of the Rim. The two privates had needed all their physical and mental abilities to finish the task, laboring and calculating by turns as they manipulated three fully loaded storage cabinets—each larger and heavier than the two men combined—across decks, up ramps, through narrow corridors, and around a final tight bend into Westfield's cabin. Their grey uniforms had been dark with sweat by the time they finished.

Perhaps the soldiers did have some reason to frown on his distaste for electronic storage media, as the contents of the three steel cabinets might have been stored on a memory chip smaller than the tip of an infant's pinky nail. But the risk of making that much information that portable was unacceptable to Dick Westfield. In this day and age, electronic fingers too fine for even a Chancellor's security system to detect could reach into the virtual space of a computer's memory and, in a tiny fraction of a second, steal the entire content and history of a million files. An instant's carelessness could provide fodder to his enemies, allowing them to tie him to a multitude of projects that the general public just wouldn't understand.

To prevent such a mishap, Westfield maintained tight control over the information that reached his eyes, refusing to use computer terminals for anything but the most basic communications. _Paper__ reports __only_, he insisted in his characteristically slow-speaking, old-fashioned way, _and__ those __must __use__ nothing __but__ code names_. Once a report came into his grasp, it left in ashes or it didn't leave at all. With no records, plausible deniability was always an option.

Today, Dick Westfield was making a rare exception, taking a chance that made his innards clench with a rare bout of anxiety. Or maybe the images flashing across his desk's inset monitor were the cause of the unpleasant sensation in his stomach. Like a trickle of loose rubble on a mountaintop, these pictures could be the start of a landslide that would destroy everything he'd worked toward for the past three decades.

"Has anyone else seen these?" Westfield asked.

"I followed orders," replied the man standing behind Westfield's right shoulder. The cool voice belonged to an even cooler head, that of Evan Tàizǐ Davis. Codename: Deadbranch, founder of Tán Hé and head of operations on Oeneus. Deadbranch was extremely careful and meticulous in his habits and followed orders without question, but his military bearing could at times be grating, especially his minimal approach to conversation.

Westfield glanced over his shoulder and repeated his question: "Is it at all possible that someone else has seen these?"

"I doubt it."

"This is important, Evan."

"I realize that, sir. I am not worried."

Westfield took a deep breath to steady his patience. "Please explain your confidence."

"As I said, sir, I followed orders."

Westfield raised a level stare and held it until Davis continued.

"Chancellor, as you instructed, the connection was made directly from my own terminal. I bypassed the ship's logs, and used the best encryption available while transferring the images. The satellite had no other contacts while I was running it. I did not detect any ships within range of the tightbeam signal. I wiped the satellite's memory after the transfer. I am certain that the only copies of these images in existence are the ones on your screen."

"And my terminal is currently isolated? No one on this ship can connect to it?"

"Of course."

Westfield nodded, satisfied with the explanation, though not with the amount of prodding it'd taken to get it. He turned back to the images on the monitor and scrolled through them again, finally stopping and zooming in on the shot that best showed the center of the ruin. His focus skipped past the charred remains of wooden buildings and smaller scraps of what might once have been human beings; he was more interested in the wrecked hulls of local transports scattered about the mountain town. These ships hadn't burned where they sat. Punctures in their sides showed that they'd been pierced and pulled out of the sky.

This was indeed worrisome. Some folk, even the ignorant locals eking out a living on this isolated Rim world, would be able to recognize what had happened here. Luckily, the town was extremely remote, and Westfield had found out about this mess before anyone else. A recently deployed military satellite had detected an explosion and trained its digital eyes to the back side of this world. In the chaos of Oeneus's current political situation, the information had sat unnoticed in the satellite's memory for days.

Westfield had come across the alert before any of the busy programmers at the new Alliance base. He'd acted swiftly, ordering Davis to retrieve the images and finding a pretext to ban travel to the mountain town, but he wouldn't be able to keep this quiet forever. Someone on the planet's surface would eventually get past his blocks.

"Sir?"

Deadbranch's impatience was understandable. The man had been waiting, wedged uncomfortably in the crevice between a giant red cabinet and Westfield's wide desk, for some time.

"I'm sorry, Evan," Westfield replied. "I just need time to make sense of this."

"Of course."

"I imagine you have already."

"Sir?"

Westfield raised his eyes. Here again was that burdensome facet of Deadbranch's personality, and the reason for the codename. Politics was a subtle thing, but Evan Tàizǐ Davis, once a Colonel in the Allied armed forces, stubbornly refused to recognize subtlety.

"You've already made sense of this," Westfield expanded.

Deadbranch nodded sharply. "I might have an idea." He didn't go on.

Westfield tried to squeeze his lips into a smile, only half succeeding. This was too inconvenient to be amusing. Sometimes it seemed like the military had perfected the art of being literal simply so they could be as brainless as oxen and as blameless as newborn babes when they chose to. _Tell__ me __what __to __do __and __gorramned __right __it__'__ll __get__ done_, their curt nods and sharp salutes said_.__It__'__ll__ get __done __exactly __as __you __say, __sir-yes-sir,__ and __not __a __bit __different, __because__ I __follow __orders. __But __you __made __the __call, __so __whatever __comes __before __and __after __has __nothing __to __do __with __me. __It __is __solely __your __problem __and __all __your __fault._

"Enlighten me," Westfield invited. "If you have any theories, even those you're not entirely sure of, I'd like to hear them."

Deadbranch only frowned doubtfully, making Westfield sigh.

"Now, Evan. That's an order."

Deadbranch gave a sharp nod; the proper courtship steps were done, the command spoke aloud, and the ex-Colonel's sense of decorum was satisfied. It was finally time to get on with business. Evan waved a questioning hand toward the display on the desk, Westfield nodded his permission, and Deadbranch stepped forward to take over the controls.

"Well, sir, it's obvious that the town was attacked. But what we need to ascertain is: who did it? I'm sure you've noted the fallen ships. You can see from the state of the wreckage that they were not brought down by explosive ordnance."

Westfield's eyes focused not on the screen, but on Deadbranch. "It looks like some sort of grapple was used."

"Which I've seen before out here on the Rim, though not in such a brazen attack, and very seldom planetside. They tend to hit solitary ships in deep space."

"_They_?"

Deadbranch met Westfield's eye and nodded.

"Let's not be hasty, Evan."

"Of course not, sir. But that's just the first piece of evidence. A few of the bodies warrant closer examination."

Deadbranch left the zoom at maximum but panned the field of view westward along the main road through town. The images were fine enough to show the horrible condition of several twisted corpses—these people hadn't been simply been killed. A number of them appeared to have been dismembered and, to a large extent, _devoured_.

But the more horribly mangled remains were not the bodies Deadbranch was referring to, as he soon pointed out. He set his finger on a large creature sprawled half off a smoldering roadside walkway.

"Sir, notice the clothing and weaponry on this one, for example. And the state of its… face. It doesn't appear to be a normal citizen of Oeneus. In fact, it doesn't appear to be a normal… human."

Westfield didn't need to look closer; he spun his chair around to a coffee machine installed in the back bulkhead of his office, placed a mug, and hit a button. He had to walk softly. Deadbranch might be the leader of an invaluable mercenary corps and a trusted partner for the Oeneus project, but he knew nothing of certain other matters.

"Would you like to see the rest?" Deadbranch asked.

Westfield turned back to his desk. "There's more?"

Davis didn't reply; he returned his attention to the controls. While the coffee machine steamed and burbled, Westfield watched the view center on a fresh, gaping hole in the hillside on the northwest side of the town.

"Records show that it used to be a fueling platform. The tank went up. Note how the trees are laid flat for quite a distance around the crater. It was a large explosion, and might be responsible for the most interesting thing I've found, which is out here …"

He shuffled through the images, choosing a shot that hadn't drawn Westfield's notice. It centered on a high stony ridge in the mountains to the west and south of the town; the sharp outcrop was lit yellow-orange by a lowering sun, leaving the valley below in shadows, but on closer study Westfield could make out metallic pieces of debris among the evergreens.

"A ship hit the mountainside before falling into the valley," Deadbranch explained. "The wreckage is scattered and difficult to assess from this imagery, but sections are intact enough to identify. It's a freighter, an old model commonly used by pioneers about fifteen years ago. There are signs of modifications, mostly added weaponry. And—here—a mounted grapple."

The ex-Colonel paused for a moment, giving Westfield a moment to consider the evidence. As soon as Westfield nodded, the mercenary straightened to a full _at-attention_ pose and continued. Despite his reluctance to get started with his explanation, he was clearly eager to share his conclusion.

"Sir, I have no doubt of who, or what, carried out this attack. It presents us with an opportunity. This could be our first chance to actually see how these things live, how their ships function without containment. Maybe we can even get some clue as to where they—"

Westfield cut him off. "First things first, Evan. Do you see any signs of survivors in the town?"

"No, sir. We currently have no satellites capable of motion tracking. There might be something we could requisition from the Alliance military, but—"

"No, this has to stay within the Tán Hé."

"Understood. My men and I will handle the recon, then." Deadbranch was practically up on the tips of his toes in his eagerness.

Westfield remembered his coffee, took the mug and cupped it in his palms thoughtfully. "You're sure no one has noticed the attack? It hasn't reached the local press?"

"There have been questions asked by those with connections to the small town, and some push back about the travel ban, but no real attention has been paid to the matter. The protest and subsequent unrest at the new Alliance base has dominated headlines during the past week."

Westfield nodded. "That's good. That's quite good. The care we've taken in developing instability on this world is paying off." The coffee was still too hot to sip, so Westfield set down his mug and stood up. The overly furnished cabin left him little room to pace, but he tried anyway, tapping one hand then the other against his desk as he turned from side to side.

"In fact," he eventually continued, "the misfortune that befell this town could be of aid to us."

"Sir?"

"What happened here could be interpreted in a certain way..." Westfield nodded to himself as he made his decision. He faced Deadbranch and firmly held the man's eye. "Evan, I need you to shelve your curiosity about these 'Reavers'. This isn't the time for it. No records, no photographs, no souvenirs. It's vital that every trace of these things is completely destroyed."

Deadbranch settled back on his heels, clearly disappointed, but his response: "I understand, sir," was as immediate as it was deferential. Overall, Westfield thought to himself, Davis's tendency to be a slavish automaton was useful.

"Involve only your most trusted men," the Chancellor went on, "work at night, use as little light as possible. You can't be seen, and you can't leave any trace of your presence."

"And if I may ask, sir, what is the desired 'interpretation'?"

Westfield sat down again and folded his hands in front of him. He spoke slowly and clearly. "As soon as possible, I want to see new headlines in the local press. I want every person on this world to understand that this atrocity was carried out by the same insurgents who've been protesting the Alliance's presence. I want the citizens of Oeneus to see what happens when they support rebels—the rebels turn against them."

_And__ then __the__ citizens __will __look__ elsewhere __for__ protection_, he added only to himself.

Davis nodded sharply. "Consider it done, sir." He cut a sharp about-face and left the office.

Westfield twiddled his thumbs, lost in thought, until roused by an urgent chime of his comm.

.*. .*. .*.

Bli-bee-beee. Bli-bee-beee.

_She wakes alone in a dark room. A high-pitched electronic chime fills the air. In the same irregular rhythm as the sound, an indicator light flashes green on a bedside monitor. Its pale, sickly glow illuminates sharp edges of leaves and petals in the many bouquets that fill the room._

_It__ must __be__ a __good__ sign, __she __thinks __to __herself, __staring __at __the __light. __Green __means __health. __Right?_

Bli-bee-beee. Bli-bee-beee.

"_I'm very sorry Ms. Serra, but there's nothing we could do." It's morning now, and the flowers that fill the room are full of color, life and cheer. "There were just too many complications. It's fortunate that you're young and strong, or you might not have survived. As it is…" The doctor sighs and continues hesitantly. "I'm afraid that…. Well, it's because of the way it all happened. You see… " _

_She__ waits, __but__ he__ doesn__'__t __go __on._

Bli-bee-beee. Bli-bee-beee.

"_You can tell me," Inara says softly. Her eyes are still focused on the slow flash of the green light, dim now against powerful sunlight streaming in the window. "Please just tell me." _

_All the doctor says is: "There's someone here to see you."_

_She sighs. "I don't want to see anyone."_

"_He __insists.__"_

Bli-bee-beee. Bli-bee-beee.

_Inara realizes that the sound isn't coming from the machine after all. Her eyes follow the insistent chirp to the entrance of her hospital suite. Beside a closed door is a large window, behind the glass is a man she knows: a well-tailored suit on a small frame, dark hair swept back from a soft, handsome face, kind hazel eyes that focus on her with concern. _

Bli-bee-beee. Bli-bee-beee.

_His__ arm __is __raised, __his __fingers __pressing__ the __wall __beside __the __window. __He__ is __ringing __a __bell, __wanting __to__ come __in. __To __comfort __her. __To __tell __her __that__ they __haven__'__t __lost __everything. __To__ tell __her __that __they __still __have __each __other._

Bli-bee-beee. Bli-bee-beee.

"_Do not listen to it," a voice tells Inara in a familiar accent, the t's poetically sharp. In the deep blue light of evening, a face of ebony, hair woven into several thick clumps against her graceful skull, hovers over Inara. _

"_Lina,__" __Inara __whispers.__ Her __throat __tightens__ with__ gratitude__ that __her__ friend__ is __with __her. __She__ can__'__t __face __this __loss __alone._

Bli-bee-beee. Bli-bee-beee.

_The__ full __darkness__ of __night __has__ fallen __again. __Lina__'__s __eyes, __deep __black __irises__ set __in __orbs __of __white, __fill __Inara__'__s __view.__ "__No, __Inara. __You __must __not. __For __Buddha__'__s __sake, __do__ not __let__ him__ in!__"_

.*. .*. .*.

Inara sat up suddenly, taking in a deep gasp of breath. Her eyes darted around a close, dark space, a very different room than the antiseptic hospital suite of her memory.

The low hum of ship's engines soothed her senses, and recognition set in. She wilted in relief to find herself back in the home that she'd chosen to replace her ruined life on Sihnon. She'd willingly traded luxury penthouses for this small, rugged shuttle, as well as gourmet delicacies for powdered protein and the finest jasmine teas for bitter, freeze-dried black leaves of uncertain origin.

_Bli-bee-beee. __Bli-bee-beee._

The chirp that had invaded her dream was coming from the shuttle's cockpit. She ignored it and looked over her shoulder; Mal was still in her bed, sleeping as deeply and innocently as a child. Perhaps he was just another aspect of the trade she'd made. In the place of a rising political star of Sihnon, a gentle, polished, romantic, attentive man, she'd found a moody thief with a history of violence and, more recently, serious problems with his memory.

She settled onto her elbow and reached out to stroke Mal's cheek. Despite the obvious problems she and Mal now faced, she wouldn't trade her new life for the old. She had no doubt about that.

_Bli-bee-beee.__ Bli-bee-beee._

The intercom wouldn't rest. Perhaps Wash and Zoë had prepared breakfast—or lunch or dinner or whatever meal was proper. Inara had no idea how much time had passed while she slept, but it had to have been more than one standard night, judging from the heaviness that weighed her limbs and thoughts. She'd needed the rest, and likely Mal needed it even more. No matter what they were calling to tell her, she wouldn't try to wake him. He should sleep as long as he was able.

_Bli-bee-beee. __Bli-bee-beee._

She pushed the blanket aside. "All right already. I'm coming!"

Her bare feet barely touched the floor before the hatch flew open, banging against the bulkhead and letting in a flood of hard white light of the cargo bay. Zoë's booted feet stomped heavily into the shuttle, her eyes searching the darkness. She was short of breath, and the few indicator lights shining from the bridge made a thin sheen of sweat glisten on her forehead.

"What the hell are you up to?" she burst out as soon as her eyes fixed on the Companion. "Wash has been tryin' to get you on the comm!"

"I'm sorry," Inara said. Her thoughts were still thick and syrupy. "I was… asleep."

"Well, wake up! We're surrounded."

.*. .*. .*.

The military cruiser's view screen wasn't really a window. In reality, the front surface of the bridge faced the port side of the ship, and currently it displayed an area of space somewhere behind and below Lieutenant Brady's right foot. But it appeared that a large portion of the bulkhead before him opened directly into space, allowing the Lieutenant to imagine that he was hovering over the ship out there in the Black, like a hawk preparing to dive at its prey.

Brady wasn't the only bird in the sky, so to speak. The tiny Firefly was completely hemmed in by carnivorous birds. Every Alliance and Tán Hé ship that Brady had commandeered for this mission was now forming a spherical shell around the pitiful freighter. It wouldn't be going anywhere, not until he was done with it.

The comm officer called out, "Lieutenant, I have the Chancellor."

Lieutenant Brady nodded in response and a second, smaller screen opened just to the left of the bridge's "window" to space. The face that appeared, that of Chancellor Richard Westfield, should have been kind, with the grandfatherly pink cheeks and wispy white hair clinging to his scalp, but the smile on his thin lips was tight and didn't reach his eyes.

"What is it?" the Chancellor asked. No, he _demanded_, and Brady felt his spine stiffen. Though Westfield's voice was soft, his manner had an unpleasant edge that unsettled the Lieutenant.

"We have his ship surrounded, sir," Brady said.

"Whose ship?"

"The final subject, sir. Captain Malcolm Reynolds."

Westfield's stare was blank.

"Um… the legal matter with the Office of Professional Responsibility, if you'll recall…."

"Right." For an instant the Chancellor frowned and his eyes lit with something like impatience, but then he looked aside and nodded. "Right. This is important." He took in a deep breath and his smile returned, though it remained tight. "That's good work, Lieutenant."

"Thank you, sir."

"And you know what needs to be done?"

"Of course. My orders are clear."

"Carry on. And please notify all the concerned parties for me. I'm a little…. tied up here."

Brady nodded sharply. "You needn't worry, sir. I'll take care of everything."

Westfield muttered, "Thank you, Lieutenant," and the screen went blank.

Brady stood for a few seconds, pondering Westfield's abrupt manner. Life must be complicated for a Chancellor, he told himself, especially one attempting to handle the unrest on Oeneus. At times like this, it was better to be merely a Lieutenant, faced with tasks that might take time and effort but were straightforward in nature.

The present matter, for example. The hunt for Malcolm Reynolds may have stretched on for weeks, but one errant blip on a screen, properly reported and investigated, had been all it'd taken to get things moving forward. Suddenly, it appeared that Brady's task would be wound up before the end of the day.

.*. .*. .*.

Mal was surprisingly easy to wake, and in her hurry Inara didn't have time to dwell on disappointment or grief that his state was unchanged. She had him dressed in minutes, then left him sitting on the bed while she fired up the scanner in the shuttle's cockpit.

Her breath caught when she saw the number of ships surrounding _Serenity_. It took her a moment to sort them all out. By the time she realized that one was approaching, it was already hovering under the Firefly's nose. Clanks of _Serenity_'s docking equipment rang through the hull, and she hurried to the shuttle's hatch, quietly cracking it open. The lights in the shuttle were low, and no one in the cargo bay would notice her watching from above.

Wash and Zoë stood near the main doors of the cargo bay, Zoë with her right hand clenched next to her thigh where her holster should have been. Wash fidgeted and paced until the airlock's inset hatch swung open, then he folded his arms across his stomach and forced himself to be still.

A crowd of armored, armed men entered cautiously, followed by an officer carrying a clipboard. He stepped directly to Zoë and handed her a small stack of papers. Inara couldn't make out what was being said, but the body language in the exchange was clear enough: the officer made a demand that Zoë didn't care for. Neither did Wash, who fidgeted with renewed anxiety while his wife tried to work her way around whatever the officer wanted.

The man had little patience for her efforts. After barely half a minute he waved his soldiers forward, and they spread through the cargo bay, guns raised, carrying out a well-drilled search pattern.

Zoë and Wash exchanged a look of despair, then Wash called the officer back. After another testy exchange, the pilot slumped and waved a hand toward the aft staircase and up. The Alliance officer's eyes followed Wash's gesture, and Inara gasped and involuntarily jumped back into the darkness. The man had looked right at her.

Wash was sending these Alliance soldiers up to her shuttle.

"Āi yā!," she muttered softly. Huài le!" Carefully, she pushed the hatch closed, then hurried to Mal and knelt before him. She took his face in her hands. "Mal, if you have it in you to wake up, now would be a good time! Please hear me! Please, if there's any way…"

He didn't respond in the slightest, and she had to resist a strong urge to shake him. Instead she stood again and walked a circle around the shuttle, resisting another urge to wring her hands in an unseemly fit of melodrama.

"What do they want?" she asked the empty space. "What do they want with Mal? Maybe it's not Mal. Maybe they're after me. Merciful Buddha—if only!"

Heavy footsteps were approaching, so she did the same as Wash had in the cargo bay: forced herself to be still, facing the door expectantly.

The Alliance officer entered, flanked by two armed soldiers. Inara had a moment to notice that Zoë and Wash were not with them before her eyes returned to the officer's face. She knew this man.

"Lieutenant Brady!" she gasped.

Upon entering the shuttle, Brady's attention had fixed on Mal, but now he looked at Inara. His eyes squinted while he searched his own memory. "Ah, yes. You were with this group before, on Niflheim. The Companion."

She stepped forward and put on her most gracious smile, hoping that it didn't look as forced as it felt. "Inara Serra. I'm pleased to see you again. Whatever brings you back to our ship?"

Instead of taking her offered hand, the man slipped a digital display sheet between her fingers. "I'm here on business ma'am," he said formally.

Inara looked at the paper: it was a picture of Mal, surrounding by a fair amount of small print that she couldn't begin to process.

"Captain Reynolds," Brady said, stepping away from Inara. "You'll need to come with us."

"You can't," Inara said in a rush. "He has to stay here. He's sick, and he needs my care. He can't understand…"

The pair of soldiers had already crossed the shuttle. They pulled Mal up by his elbows and guided him to the hatch, hurried by a wave from the Lieutenant.

Inara followed. "Are you arresting him?"

Brady glanced back at her as the group crossed the cargo bay's catwalk. "Should I?"

"Of course not! That's not what I… But… but you can't just come onto a ship and take a person! What possible reason do you have for this?"

Brady's reply was annoyingly casual and rambling. "Captain Reynolds is needed in relation to a legal matter, and my orders are to take him into custody. I could place him under arrest if that would make you feel better, but it isn't necessary. It would only make for more paperwork. Perhaps you like that kind of thing. Myself, I'd rather just take care of business and move on with my life. Paperwork is such a hassle."

Inara realized that the Lieutenant was intentionally taking up time while his men rushed Mal down the stairs. They were already stepping onto the cargo bay deck.

"What legal matter?" she interrupted. "I demand that you explain!"

Brady shrugged dismissively. "I'm afraid I can't. I'm not a lawyer."

Inara hurried past the Lieutenant, past Zoë and Wash who stood slumped and flanked by soldiers, and beat the group leading Mal to the main doors. She firmly set herself in their way. "I insist that you make an effort! This cannot be legal, and there are paths I can take—"

She was cut off when Brady grabbed a stack of forms from Zoë's hand and thrust them into Inara's face. The front page was covered with thick paragraphs of fine print. The only thing easily legible was the heading printed boldly across the top: _Allied__ Planet's __Office__ of__ Legal__ Matters:__ Form __F36-2E __Permit __for __Seizure __of __Citizens/Part-time__ Citizens __of __Alliance__ Settlements_.

Inara took the packet and scanned it as quickly as she could. She found Mal's name in the smaller print on the front page, while the last page held several signatures and two raised notary seals.

"I'm sure everything you need is in there," Brady said stiffly. "If you have any questions, contact the Alliance Legal Offices on Oeneus, or the Office of Professional Responsibility on Sihnon. I'm sure they can explain this matter to your satisfaction."

Inara stood with her mouth open as the soldiers pushed past her and led Mal out, sealing the cargo bay door behind them.

.*. .*. .*.

Translations

Āi yā: Damn: interjection for surprise or regret,

Huài le: shit on my head: interjection for bad news, ruined, spoiled;


	24. Chapter 24

**Back Stories III: Chapter 24  
**By mal4prez

* * *

_The Firefly verse belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy,  
and the rest. I'm just playing with it, and not making any money._

_Thank you for the reviews, folks, and for waiting so patiently for updates.  
_

* * *

On some level, he was aware. His eyes took in patterns of color and brightness, his ears received words and sound, he tasted the air he breathed. But the signals passed through his conscious mind as if none of it could have anything to do with him, not the exotically beautiful black-haired woman pleading as she touched his face, not the purple uniformed soldiers pulling him away from her, not the sadly slouching couple who stood aside as he was led through a empty cargo bay to his ship's airlock.

The cold white lights and neat straight corridors of the vessel he entered didn't cause the slightest ripple on the placid surface of his mind. He didn't attempt to measure the time that passed while he sat in a small room, a _cell_ he might have called it, if he'd bothered forming words. He simply stared, eyes fixed to a blank white wall, and waited.

It was all the same to him when soldiers reappeared, pulled him to his feet, and led him through harshly lit corridors and out into a fine mist of rain under a gray sky. He entered a building with an atmosphere of quiet and cleanliness and an odor of medicines and antiseptic. He didn't register these details as either pleasant or disturbing; he didn't ponder them at all. Even when white-coated men removed his coat and his boots, then his pants and shirt, replacing his clothes with loose cotton pants and a matching top, his inner stillness was untouched. He stood up when his arm was pulled and followed where he was led.

But then he entered a round room, spotlessly empty except for a reclining chair in the exact center and a control board off to his left. For the first time in days, a flicker of activity stirred his thoughts. As he was guided toward the chair, a high pitched buzzing noise suddenly tore through the soft, protective cloud wrapped around his wounded mind.

"No," he said softly, his long unused voice cracking. He tried to plant his feet and resist, but firm hands tightened their grip on his upper arms and dragged him forward.

"Not again," he said.

He was pressed into the reclining chair. Padded straps were fastened over his arms and legs, and a band fixed around his head. He couldn't move. He fought the straps, his self-imposed numbness now completely replaced by blind panic.

_That sound._ He didn't know if he spoke aloud or only thought the words. _That gorramned sound._

He felt a brief but sharp sting as a young female doctor put an IV in his arm, then she used a syringe to inject a carefully measured dose into the line.

"Don't do this," he told her. "You really shouldn't do this." His eyes must have been wild as he tried to turn his head to face her. "Trust me about that."

If there was a reply, he couldn't comprehend it, nor could he understand the soft sounds that rose from the control board: hushed words, the tapping of keys, a barely audible whir of fine machinery. And still, that buzzing, a sound from a dream he didn't want to recall.

He had no choice. He felt a nightmare lurking just out of sight around a short bend, a giant, hulking thing waiting to pounce on him, crush his bones and devour what was left of him. With his numbness shattered, he couldn't avoid it. Alone, unable to see anything but a blank ceiling fitted with a neat, symmetric pattern of lights, he was helpless to do anything but wait for the alarming sounds to blur, then fade, as the drug and the dream took him.

.*. .*. .*.

_The sun is down and darkness complete when Malcolm rides into the stable yard at a full gallop. He pulls the mare up hard, dismounts, and begins to jog toward the ranch house, but he stops after a mere two steps. As much as he's burning to act as soon as possible on the decision he's made, he can't leave the mare winded and sweaty in the cool night air. He goes back and removes the horse's saddle and bridal, then halters her and leads her to the pasture. The walk gives him a chance to cool as well, which is for the best. If he comes in the house out of breath and talking like a senseless hot head, his mother will never hear him out. _

_The cold, distant sparkle of stars gives him pause, and makes him consider again what it is he means to do. He hasn't been off his own continent before, much less off the planet. Not that the idea of travel frightens him, but he's happy with the life he's living. He's grown up with every expectation of taking over the ranch someday, passing his years peacefully while raising a family of his own. But it's beginning to seem that he'll never have any of that, not if he doesn't fight for it now._

_These thoughts are filling his mind as he nears the side door that opens directly into the rambling house's kitchen. He passes the yellow light of an open window and starts at the sharp slap of a hand against a hardwood table, followed by his mother's voice raised in a way that he seldom hears._

"_Damn that sweet-talking gŏu tuĭ zi! How dare he act like it's some kind of gift he's bestowing on us simpletons and fools!"_

"_It's just a different way to go about things," a man answers, his deep voice slow and patiently drawn out. _

_Malcolm steps up to the window, looking through the parted curtains. The senior ranch hand, a steady man who doesn't seem to age so much as get tougher and thicker as the years go, sits at the table nursing a mug. Malcolm has never seen Reggie get roiled, not in the worst midsummer storm or the harshest spring freeze. The man's calm seems to stir up more anger in Malcolm's mother. _

"_Reginald Ashe, don't you even start telling me you're that stupid! I know you don't believe the gōu shī they're throwing at us! You can't!"_

_Reggie is as placid as ever as he sorts through a pile of colorful leaflets spread over the kitchen table. When he replies, his voice is firm. "Stelara Reynolds, I been workin' with my back and hands my whole life. Seems that havin' a break from the toil ain't the worst way to go. Might make things run smoother, and give us all a little free time for—"_

"_I don't need free time, and neither do you!" she interrupts. She picks up a handful of flyers, but crushes them in her fist before Malcolm can make out any of the words printed on them. "Don't you see? This is how they do it. First they get us to use their machines—and guess who we need to buy those machines from? Guess how many suppliers of this high tech fancy feed I can choose from?" She drops the crumbled papers in disgust. "One! That's how many! And when Blue Sun starts telling me what to do, how to run my place like they know best about every damned thing, guess how much choice I'll have?"_

"_You're takin' it a little too far," Reggie mutters, but his words can't stop her tirade._

"_It'll give me _free time_, huh? Free time for what? For buying their video screens and watching their brainless entertainment __lā jí__, sitting on my butt until my legs hardly work anymore. Before you know it, they'll be tearing up my land, putting in shiny little shopping centers and big, plastic houses right on top of each other. My boy will watch his children grow up like they're living on any planet in the Core. I can't have that! I won't have my grandchildren turning into stupid, mindless drones like most of this gorramn `verse. If that's how I wanted my life and my children to be, I wouldn't have come out here in the first place!"_

_Reggie holds out a hand, trying to calm her as if she was a jittery horse. "Now, easy there, Stel. You're gettin' a bit ahead of yourself. They ain't trying to take over…"  
_

"_The hell they aren't!"_

_Malcolm is shocked at what she does then. His normally placid and calm mother, while emitting a string of profanity vile enough to make even him blush, goes through each of those colored bits of paper, holding a few choice selections up for particular expressions of insult and disgust before she tears them to bits. Soon, a rainbow confetti covers the kitchen table and spills onto the tiles of the floor. _

_Reggie shakes his head and shrugs his surrender, then rises and heads for the door._

"_You just wait and see!" she calls out after him. "You'll see what they'll do to our world if we let them in! It won't be at all like what we have now, and then you'll be sorry that you didn't speak when you had the chance!"_

"_Goramnit woman, it don't have to be a bad thing," Reggie mumbles under his breath as he comes out the door, but he doesn't say it nearly loud enough for Mrs. Reynolds to hear. _

"_Night, Reggie," Malcolm says, just to let his presence be known. The old man's probably on the edge of saying something that he wouldn't want his boss's son to hear._

"_Oh, uh… `evening, Malcolm," Reggie replies, then he steps closer and speaks quietly. "You best keep your distance. There ain't no talkin' to your Ma at the moment."_

_Malcolm smiles and nods, but passes by and enters into the kitchen anyway. It may go against common sense to walk into this storm with the news he's bringing, but it could be that his mother's anger will aid him in his argument. He's willing to roll the dice._

_He finds her gathering up the bits of colored paper and scooping them into the stove. She glances over her shoulder when she hears Malcolm enter, but doesn't say hello. She's still full of anger; he can see it as a tightness in her shoulders and a rare bright burn in her eyes._

_She finishes clearing the paper shreds, then stands watching the flames work. After a long moment, she shakes her head. "Even the paper they use isn't natural," she says. Malcolm can see what she means. The embers of the dinner fire are still glowing orange-red, and the scraps of colored paper lying over the coals should be going up in a warm yellow flash. But they stay whole, flames of blue and green licking along their edges as the fragments of printed words slowly char to black. Malcolm wonders what those sheets are made of, what kind of poison makes the paper fight its natural end._

_He turns away from the struggling flames and looks at his mother. "You gonna tell me what's goin' on?" he asks._

"_Speak properly, Malcolm." _

"_Are you going to tell me what's happening?" he says with exaggerated clarity._

"_Have a seat," she orders. She takes a minute to fetch a fresh log and sets it in the stove, taking care to cover up the slow smoldering of the false paper, then shuts the stove's door and settles her back against the wooden counter. She folds her arms and gives Malcolm a long, hard look. _

"_Did you listen in on the meeting tonight?" she asks. "The one at town hall?"_

_Malcolm had sat down when she told him to, and now he reclines, stretches out his legs, crosses his arms, and returns her look defiantly. "No. I was havin' a drink at the Tap." It's something for him to admit that freely, but he's a man now, a man who'll go to the pub when he chooses. _

_To his surprise, she just nods for him to continue._

"_I heard a lot of talk," he says. "A lot of arguments, really. Old Kelly was going on about the changes that are coming. He had family on Greenleaf when the Alliance moved in. He had a lot of not-nice things to say about how it went. 'Course, some didn't agree with him. Some said that such changes are inevitable, and should be welcomed as the natural course of things."_

_She nods knowingly. "Things are changing all right. I'm one of those who doesn't like it, but I can't see that I can change a thing." She takes in a deep breath. "I guess we might have to run our place a bit differently next season."_

"_Is that what those flyers were about? The ones you tore up so eloquently?"_

_She glances at a few wayward scraps of paper still laying about, then looks at him sharply. "Has my son been eavesdropping?"_

"_No ma'am. I was just… " He looks toward the open kitchen window and grins. "I was just admiring the very fine work you did on those curtains. From the outside, they look fresh and homey."_

_He's ready to be called out for his cheek, but she only smiles. It's a sad, distant smile, one that he doesn't understand until she speaks. _

"_Malcolm, you are so like your father sometimes."_

_He shifts uncomfortably. He's never known his father, and they don't talk about him much. Much? They don't talk about that ghost ever._

_She shakes the mood off. Her face turns serious and her voice firm. _

"_Those flyers were handed out at the meeting. You know that the Alliance is setting up an outpost on the far side of the world, and there'll be new trade lines into the Core. Like some people have been saying for years, we'll have a bigger market for our meat and goods."_

_Malcolm nods and, by rote, finishes the tale that's been recited over and over lately by a few of his least favorite acquaintances. "And that's a good thing for us. Better prices, since there's always someone in the wider verse looking to buy…" _

_She sighs and takes a seat across from him at the table. "That is what you hear, but there's more to it. If we want to sell our goods in the Core, we have to follow the rules. We can only give our stock feed that's approved by the government Livestock Safety some-such Committee. We have to use feeding machines that control how much each animal gets, and we have to keep them penned up so they don't get exposed to diseases from all possible creatures that might be out there in the wild. We can't choose when our animals go to slaughter. We get told by the Committee, so they can control how much meat is on the market._

"_In the meantime, we won't need all the hands any more, once things get automated. We can just hire a few tech experts to visit on occasion and keep the machinery going, and then you and I can sit inside and push buttons all day."_

_Her jaw clenches at that idea, and Malcolm's does too. It isn't their way to put their feet up while machines do their work. _

"_Do we have to get into all that?" he asks. "Can't we just say no thanks and continue our own way?"_

_She leans forward, her elbows on the table and hands clasping each other. "Malcolm, I hate to admit this, but I'm afraid we won't have much choice. Once there's a trade line to the Core, goods will come in as well as out. Those who sign in on this agreement can buy Core technical gear, and they'll get the biggest share and profit in the new trade. If we don't sign on, we'll lose our market, bit by bit. By the time I'm gone and you're running this place, it'll get tight. I bet you'll have to sell off land just to get by, and I bet again that you'll find someone eager to buy it. A clone of that smooth Blue Sun man from the meeting tonight will come knocking on your door with a big friendly smile, soothing words, and a tidy pile of money. Not too much, just enough to save you from going under. Just enough to set you up like all the other fools..." _

_She leans back and folds her arms, and a chilling hardness comes into her eyes._

"_This life we're living will be gone, Malcolm. It'll be just like the Core. That's how it goes: as soon as a world is worth living on, the Alliance shows up. Those who did the work are shoved aside and forgotten, and the things we built, all that is ours, is taken away." She exhales sharply. "Well, technically, it's seized in exchange for some officially approved reimbursement. That's to soften the fact that saying 'no' is not an option."_

Hell no and no and NO_, Malcolm thinks as he clenches his fists—that'd be his answer. He can't imagine letting some stranger just take away his land, the land his mother fought so hard to tame. He stands up and walks across the kitchen, pacing as he gathers his thoughts. It's time to have his say, and now he's even more sure of his choice than he was before. After a few turns he stops near the stove and raises his eyes. He's startled to find that his mother is watching him closely, her mouth pulled into a tight line. _

_He takes a deep breath. "Ma, I'm gonna share some news about me, and I don't want you fightin' it."_

_She lets his bad diction go, but only because a storm of a different kind is gathering on her face. _

"_A regiment of Independents landed a few days ago," he continues, "They're stayin' on the southern continent, and I can just –"_

"_You are not joining them," she says, quietly but in that way she has, like the decision is made and there'll be no debate._

_Malcolm remains firm. "I've got every right to choose my own path, and this is what I'm doing."_

_Her voice is tightly controlled. "I need you here."_

"_You've got hands a'plenty. You don't even need all we have."_

_Her control slips; she slaps her hand against the table and raises her voice. "Shadow's not part of the war!"_

"_It will be soon and you gorramned know it!" _

_Malcolm stops and puts his hand over his mouth, and his mother crosses her arms and waits. He takes a deep breath; he isn't going to back down, but he has to go about this right. Logic is the only way to win over such a woman as his mother._

"_I'm sorry, Ma. I didn't mean to speak to you harsh. But I have to do this." He looks her in the eye. "You said it yourself. It's my future at stake here. Those people doing the talking at the town hall came here dressed up nice, talking pretty and handing out cookies, but they might as well be dropping bombs. They aim to take what we've got, to change it around so this world's not ours anymore."_

_She snorts out her impatience, her frustration. "You certainly have been talking to Old Man Kelly. Probably three deep in whiskey."_

"_But is he wrong?"_

_Her mouth twists for a long moment, as if she wants to lie, but then she drops her head and closes her eyes. Her voice is suddenly soft. "No. I can't say that he's wrong."_

"_We have to fight back. I have to fight back."_

_She shakes her head, her eyes still tightly shut. "No. Not you."_

"_Why not? If not me, who? "_

_She puts a hand over her face and sits motionless for a long moment, drawing a handful of slow breaths. When she drops her hand, he's relieved to see that her cheeks are dry, but when she speaks her voice is unsteady. _

"_You're all I've got, Malcolm."_

_He doesn't know how to answer. Her words are completely untrue, but at the same time they hide a thin sliver of hard reality that he can't argue against. _

"_I know," she says suddenly. "Of course I know you have to go. I guess I just… I guess I hoped that you wouldn't figure it out."_

_It takes him a moment to realize that he's won the argument. It's a hollow victory, one that leaves him feeling empty and lost. He returns to the table, sits, and takes his mother's hand. They stay like that for a long moment, waiting for the sting to die down._

"_When?" she asks._

"_They're not staying long, so I hear. Not here to take recruits, just to rest up for a day or two. Kelly's got his connections, said he'd get me in. As soon as he hears back, I can go to meet them."_

_His mother gives his hand a squeeze, then lets go and rises to take a few turns of her own across the kitchen. _

"_You are like your father," she finally says. _

"_That a bad thing?" he asks._

_She gives him a measuring look, studying him as if she hasn't really seen him in quite some time. "In all truth, I don't know. He was a good man in his soul, but I could never change his mind either. All the arguing in the `verse just made him dig in his heels deeper. And he broke my heart, just as much as you're breaking it now."_

_She says it matter-of-fact, not like she's trying to cut him with guilt, but Malcolm drops his eyes to the floor. He's ashamed of his stubbornness, of the distress he's bringing to a fine woman who's been nothing but good to him. She doesn't need the worry he's causing her._

"_I'm sorry, Ma."_

"_Don't you be sorry," she replies sharply. "If you're going out to defend your home, you'll do it with a clear conscience. What you'll be fighting for is right. It's God's way that each person has the right to choose their life, as long as it does no one harm. This Alliance has lost sight of the right path, and they need to be taught. Taking part of that kind of battle is something you don't ever need to apologize about. _

"_The only thing you'll need to be sorry for is if you don't come back." Her voice cracks at this. "I don't plan on running this ranch forever, you know."_

_And then Malcolm finds himself pulled to his feet and engulfed in a hug the likes of which he hasn't had since he was a boy, a hug that wraps him tight and lasts for some time, and when it finally ends he has to pretend that he doesn't see his Ma wiping her eyes. He has to turn away and pretend he isn't wiping at his own. _

"_Well, let's see to getting you outfitted," she says. "No good putting it off. Brown, right?"_

.*. .*. .*.

Malcolm opened his eyes to find himself in a bright, clean room.

It had an intangible feel of newness, perhaps from the glow of the pristinely white ceiling, or the crisp shine from the light fixtures. The decor was harmonious and calming; the walls were painted a tranquil soft honey color and featured muted watercolor seascapes. A large, green plant sat on a wooden table between two deep, soft chairs beside a wide window. Outside, nothing could be seen but the top of a gently swaying tree and a bank of gray clouds breaking up to reveal a freshly scrubbed blue sky.

Malcolm immediately disliked the place.

He laid still, eyes roving but body frozen, while he tried to figure out what was bothering him. It was more than the discomfort of waking up in a foreign bed (for this surely wasn't any part of Shadow that he knew.) No, something particular about this room made him uneasy, maybe even a little afraid.

Certainly, after growing up in the clutter and wear of a ranch house, he was unaccustomed to such a contrived effort of interior design. His home had been worn into a kind of messy comfortable softness that a place like this couldn't come close to capturing. This room, though pretty enough in its way, felt like a lie. Even the smell…

The odors emanating from a cattle ranch might not be the makings of fine perfume, but were much preferable to whatever concoction tickled his nose here: flowery but stinging, like air fresheners made strong to cover chemicals, perhaps antiseptics and cleaners.

Something clicked in his mind, and he realized exactly why he'd rather be elsewhere. Only one kind of place smelled like this: a hospital. It looked to be a nice hospital, one that spared no expense in disguising itself as a comfortable inn, but the prettiness of it didn't set him at ease. Rather the opposite. This place couldn't possibly be a facility run by the Independents, and didn't seem likely to roll out a welcome for the likes of him. Anyhow, no matter what kind of hospital it was, a young man setting out to join a war definitely did not want to find himself laid up before he even saw his first battle.

Which begged the question: how had he ended up here? He didn't even remember leaving his mother's house, just going to pack…

And now he was here?

He tried to lift a hand, meaning to scratch his head in confusion, but his wrist wouldn't budge. He raised his head to look down: his lower arms were bound to the frame of the bed. They were gently encased with padding, but bound all the same.

Something else caught his eye—on the back of his left forearm, near his elbow. A nearly invisible, pencil-thin streak of white cut across his skin. A scar. He remembered the wound, not for the pain of it as much as the inanity.

… _a soldier in brown in front of him, pushing through thick foliage in the darkness. A barely noticed sting as the greenery lashed back, released too suddenly, and a sharp sting as a thin but strong branch bit deeply into his arm._

Odd, but he remembered that small moment with perfect clarity. He hadn't been concerned with the shallow cut at the time, in fact he hadn't thought of it for days, not until it ached with infection. He'd been a bit busy, given the distraction of stealing tanks from a hilltop and hurrying to join a battle, saving the asses of his superiors and earning himself a metal in the process…

Malcolm smiled to himself. Oh, how that had pissed Zoë off, to see him getting recognized for breaking the rules. She'd spared him none of her harsh words over the matter, but he'd seen more behind her sharp tongue than abuse. As much as she'd tried to hide it, he'd sensed the warm glow of Zoë Alleyne's respect, shining on him in full for the first time.

He'd won something from Zoë that day, some higher level of regard that she didn't hand out to just anybody. And he might have started a shift in the way she did things herself, because he made her see that following orders was not always the best way to go, not even in a war.

He glanced at the thin scar on his forearm again. His part of that war had lasted four long years, and such a small moment as a scramble up a wooded bluff in the dark had left a mark on him. Not the biggest mark. He knew he had others, greater and deeper, with far darker stories behind them.

But… four years?

The halfway pleasant memory he'd been walking through crumbled beneath a pile of tough questions. How was that possible, to have been through four years of war when he remembered, with unmistakable sharpness, those final moments in his mother's kitchen? Only half a day ago it seemed. How had there been four years?

And… more years afterwards? Yes, he knew there'd been a longer time, possibly even a worse time that had followed the fighting. The whole string of events had somehow hidden themselves from him, the weight of his adult life removed from his shoulders, until now.

_Zoë, a stranger. She mocks the uniform his mother had so carefully constructed, and before long sets him and his attitude straight with a few hard punches to the nose…_

_The perfect aim he'd prided himself on as a boy on Shadow means death for nameless Alliance soldiers creeping toward him in the dark. Nameless and faceless to him, but a relentless inner voice tells him that they must have been well known to families on distant worlds. No longer…_

_Corporal Alleyne needs his help. He finds her in a dark place, one so twisted and horrible that he can't get her free without taking a piece of that horror with him… _

_He brings death to his own as easily as he kills the enemy. Not that he means to, but what he "means" no longer seems to matter. That's what it is to be a leader. He goes on, making the hard choices because he believes that this war deserves nothing less…_

_Fire rains down. In that instant his mother's words come back to him with a hollow ring that tears his soul: _What you'll be fighting for is right. It's God's way…

_The dead rot on hillsides as days pass. No one is coming to help. No god is on anyone's side and there is no such thing as "right." There is only the torment of being defeated, of having other men's heels on your throat, no hope for justice…_

_The words of his mother are meaningless. The kitchen he grew up in, with its charming curtains, large wooden table, and warm stove is gone. The fertile soil that once fed hundreds of head of cattle is reduced to nothing more than a thimbleful of dust. If he could go back to the cinders of Shadow and look close enough, he might find, amongst the ash, the last remainders of his mother's bones…_

_There is no home to go back to. Accident or intentional atrocity, it doesn't matter. The thing he's fought to protect has been destroyed, burned down to the bare stony skeletons of the world. Even before he'd been crushed by his own defeat in Serenity Valley, his home had been lost…_

The first time, Mal'd had several years to accept the change in his understanding of himself and the world he lived in. There'd been time between harsh discoveries and losing battles, weeks and months and even years for him to settle into the new reality of the post-war 'verse.

He had no such luxury now.

.*. .*. .*.

Translations  
gou tuĭ zi: person who helps or flatters evil people (running dog)  
gōu shī: crap  
lā jí: garbage


End file.
